


Monster of the Week

by Conductor



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), The X-Files
Genre: Come out come out wherever you are, Consent is Sexy, Crossover, Dr Erin Gilbert's Whiteboard, Erin Gilbert Unmasked, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Holding Hands, Holtzmann Monologue, Holtzmann's Girl, Holtzmann's Workshop, Not Safe for Pants (NSFP), Real you/Real me, Serenade me Holtzmann, Shameless Fan Service, Slow Build Erin Gilbert/Jillian Holtzmann, Slow Build to Holtzbert but not slow to Scully/Holtz, Slow Wink, Smut, Tang, V-neck Grind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conductor/pseuds/Conductor
Summary: In California, Patty and Abby sign autographs by day and Patty dances by night. Erin is called to teach a secretive collection of government officials. Kevin plays hide and seek. While the rest of the team is away, the FBI investigates the strange genius behind the Ghostbusters' tech.Our favorite mad engineer has a very busy week. Erin returns, finally ready to talk more than physics with Holtzmann. Together, they discover that the FBI might have been doing more than ask questions.Conductor's Message: This tale is rife with awkward humor, cheesy music, and science jargon. If you like fluff with dialogue and descriptive text, but hate fade-to-black, welcome aboard!





	1. Industrial Tweed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday

The FBI spearheaded the formation of a national task force on the paranormal. After a lifetime of skeptics and eye-rolling, it would have been an honor to be invited. Yet, words of respect were sent to Dr. Yates, but not to Dr. Gilbert. There was no invitation. They _demanded_ Dr. Gilbert’s involvement as an essential scientific adviser. After the events perpetrated by Rowan and the deaths that occurred on her watch, the security clearance had been difficult to obtain. Someone in the FBI pushed it through. She still wondered who and why.

From the moment Dr. Gilbert walked into the stone-walled room, she knew her anxiety about facing skeptics was out of place. The top brass of the nation’s agencies sat around a banged-up meeting table that had been expensive early last century. Every government organization she knew was represented, as well as a few she could not identify. They were caught unprepared and could not let it happen again. The older men and women all listened quietly, some even took notes. It was better than any class she ever taught at Columbia. The questions were respectful. There were no tedious remarks besmirching her credibility or basic arguments that ghosts did not exist. They believed the science. They believed her. If it were not for the one who sat in the back of the room smoking, it would have been the perfect class.

Her fingers twitched with messages she could not send to Abby, Patty, and Holtz. The conference had lasted a few days. It had been complete radio silence. It was hard enough to get pen and paper, let alone cell phones and the internet. She was not entirely sure where she was. There had been air travel, but she only knew that by the way her ears popped and her stomach reeled.

Now, after an exhaustive debriefing, she stood in an empty hallway lit with ancient florescent bulbs. She startled as a voice crackled through a tin speaker and hoped it was not on camera. Then she blushed. Of course it was on camera. Now, that was on camera too. She huffed in frustration.

“State your full name and specialty, then prepare for eye and fingerprint scans,” the mid-range voice instructed.

“Erin Gilbert, physics as it pertains to both metaphysical-"

“Physics is all we need,” the voice interrupted.

“Oh, sorry about that, because when you said specialty I thought you-”

“Place your hands on the scanner and look at the blue light,” the voice crackled.

After several months of working together, Erin could almost hear Holtzmann yell, “DON’T LOOK AT THE LIGHT, ERIN! DON’T GO TO THE LIGHT!” She pictured Holtzmann grabbing onto her leg, as if holding her away from certain death. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed a giggle.

A sigh crackled through the speaker. “Open your eyes.”

“Oh, right, sorry I was just thinking-”

“Think with your mouth closed and your eyes open, Doctor Gilbert,” a different voice, more obviously feminine, crackled harshly through the speaker.

Erin jumped again and stood perfectly still as the blue light seared her eyes. She stumbled backward and held her hands over them.

“Your hands must stay still for at least five seconds,” first voice said.

“We want to get you out of here even faster than you want to go,” the second one said tiredly.

“I- why is that?” Erin asked as she carefully positioned her hands on the small metal tray.

“Your phone,” the second voice grumbled.

“It’s been dancing and flashing and beeping for three days.”

“Belching too.” The second one added.

“Oh sorry about that, they took it before I could shut it- wait- did you say belching?”

“Or flatulence, something. You got a weird notification system there, Doctor.”

“How long until I get back to New York?” she said in a rush.

“Do we sound like travel agents? Ask the beanpole with the badge out front.”

A box in the wall opened like an old fashioned bank teller. In it were all her personal effects, including her phone. Even with its upgraded battery, the number of alarms had taken it down to 15% power. Erin paled. After several prank notification alert changes, she had finally agreed to let Holtz set one of them to anything she wanted. In hindsight, the belch was rather mild for the mischievous engineer, but effective. It would definitely get her attention, which was important for this alert. It was the alarm for when a few too many things changed, just a little, which was a classic sign of paranormal activity. She immediately started to dial Abby, then remembered she was at a comic convention with Patty in California. Holtz was alone, with Kevin.

“No calls ‘til the agent says so,” the second voice said.

“But it’s an-”

“Emergency. Right. Your phone will be shielded from outgoing messages until the agent gives clearance.”

“But- you don’t understand - it could be another-”

The speaker made a sharp whining noise as they ended the conversation, interrupting her again.

A door at the far end of the hallway opened. A tall man stood in silhouette. A friendly, warm voice said, “Doctor Gilbert, this way please. Loved your book.”

—

**Four Days Earlier - Monday**

“Ghostbusters, what do you want?” Kevin said brightly.

A calm feminine voice asked, “This is location dedicated to the work of Drs. Yates, Gilbert, and Holtzmann?”

“And Patty!”

“No offense intended. I did not realize Patricia Tolan was a permanent member. I will update our notes.”

“It’s also a firehouse but- it’s not a very a good one,” Kevin whispered conspiratorially.

“Why is that?” the visitor tilted her head to the side.

“It’s - I think, maybe there ought to be more fire.”

“I see,” she said with an understanding nod.

“You’re smart! You’ll be a great Ghostbuster!” Kevin said with a big grin.

Kevin and the visitor turned as a pair of rubber boots squeaked against the old metal fire pole. Holtzmann jumped from it and landed with a loud thud. She immediately wielded an imaginary gun and aimed it at Kevin. "This was your last chance, Keven! No more recruiting! We are out of locker space! BANG!”

Kevin clutched his chest and fell like a board behind his desk, cracking his head hard against the floor.

“Whoa! Buddy!” Holtzmann leapt to her feet. She ran like a blur past a woman with red hair, a conservative navy skirt suit, and practical matching pumps. Holtz vaulted over the desk and landed by his head.

“Ha! Pretty good, right?” his words slurred together.

“This young man sounds concussed,” the feminine voice said.

Holtz turned around quickly and hit her head hard against the bottom edge of the desk.

“Hey, not nice to do that thing the same like I did,” Kevin complained.

Holtz stood up carefully this time. “So, yeah, I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. He- uh- always kinda sounds like that.”

Holtzmann stared as a pale red eyebrow arched in skepticism. “Are you certain you are not concussed, Dr. Holtzmann?” she said with a hint of either amusement or judgment.

“You- you know my name? I didn’t say-”

“You make devices that save the world from certain destruction, I investigate,” she said.

“Visitors have to sign in! Abby said!”, Kevin said, clutching his forehead instead of the egg growing on the back of his head. He threw the visitor’s log across the desk.

The visitor calmly took a pen from her own pocket and signed on the next empty line. “Do you require identification for visitors?”

“No, just-”

“YES, yes we do,” Holtz said, her chin raised too high in the air.

The visitor opened a small leather wallet with a practiced flick of her wrist. A flash of brassy light dazzled Holtz’s eyes.

“Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI.”

—

**Friday**

Erin waited in a different car after another blindfolded plane trip. The tall agent had stopped for gas and now hovered near the trashy newspaper rack. He caught her looking and gave her a cheesy grin. She clenched her fists and let out a loud growl of rage. Her phone, now on its last dregs of battery, lit up with a retro green wink emoticon for a second.

The agent returned to the car. “Sorry about that, government cards can be…”

As soon as the car started, her phone played a cheery chirping sound and she stopped listening to his excuses. The phone tried to display all of the alarm notifications at once and nearly vibrated out of her hands.

“Need a little extra, huh?” the agent joked.

“What?” she said, shaking her head clear. Her finger tapped furiously to acknowledge all of them.

He waved the comment away and pulled the car out onto the main road.

Erin used the feature that would call all Ghostbusters in NYC. There was no reply. Holtzmann’s voicemail picked up. There was a moment of dramatic heavy breathing, then the engineer’s voice crackled a maniacal laugh and did a better Lurch impression than Erin expected, ”You rang?”

“I- hey, it’s me. Me being Erin- Erin Gilbert, Ghostbuster and Doctor of- Out of the meetings- you know, just, there’s lots of alarms and I’m kinda worried. Is everything-” Erin accidentally ended the call. She could not remember if that meant the message would send or would not, but at least Holtzmann would see the missed call. There was no reason to call Kevin. After a simple text to Abby and Patty, she wondered if Abby had remembered to cancel her ongoing food order. Erin took a deep breath and reviewed the notification system logs.

**First Floor EVP Recordings:**

  * Monday: One. Short. Likely a joke.
  * Tuesday: Three separate recordings
  * Wednesday: Several long recordings broken into 15 minute segments
  * Thursday: Several recordings. An automated note flagged them as, “Genius. It’s loud sometimes."
  * Friday: No recordings.



**Second Floor EVP Recordings:**

  * Sensors disconnected due to rampant and time-consuming shenanigans. - Dr. Erin Gilbert
  * So glad you cleared up that you’re not that big loser Erin Gilbert who only has a masters. - The Esteemed Doctor of Physics Abigail Yates
  * Snarl. Growl. Chain rattle. OoooooOoooooOoooo. - The Hook & Ladder Monster



**Monday Alarms:**

  * Fire Extinguishers: B and D low
  * Fireman’s Pole: Used 5 times, two of them in the wrong direction
  * Environmental: Excess moisture (linked to heavy rain with the weather app)
  * Lighting: On brightest setting and on for full 24 hours
  * Noise Level: Within OSHA standards
  * Emergency Shower: No use.
  * Containment Chamber: Radiation level normal. Capacity near max - room for one class IV or two class Vs.



**Tuesday Alarms:**

  * Fire extinguishers B and D replenished, C low
  * Smoke Alarm: Sounded once and cleared
  * Fireman’s Pole: Used 3 times, once in the wrong direction
  * Lighting: Dimmed in the evening
  * Noise Level: Ear protection recommended
  * Emergency Shower: One use, cold water only.
  * Containment Chamber: Radiation level down. Capacity unchanged.



**Wednesday Alarms:**

  * Fire Extinguishers: Unchanged
  * Fireman’s Pole: Used once
  * Lighting: Dimmed most of the day, completely off in the evening
  * Noise Level: Ear protection required
  * Emergency Shower: Three uses, all warm to hot water.
  * Containment Chamber: Radiation level down. Capacity unchanged. Radiation hot spots detected. Excess vibrations detected.



**Thursday Alarms:**

  * Fire Extinguishers: 5 of 5 low
  * Fireman’s Pole: Sensor damaged; An automated note in the log read, “Boots prolly”
  * Lighting: Rapid changes; An automated note in the log read, “Light switch rave!”
  * Noise Level: Specialized ear protection required
  * Emergency Shower: One use. No temperature data.
  * Containment Chamber: Radiation level below detection threshold (or an indication of sensor damage). Capacity at critical mass.



**Friday Alarms:**

  * Fire Extinguishers: No logs available.
  * Fireman’s Pole: No logs available.
  * Lighting: No logs available.
  * Noise Level: No logs available.
  * Emergency Shower: No logs available.
  * Containment Chamber: Radiation level remains low. Hot spots remain. Capacity uncertain. Power flux warning. Diesel generator at 52% fuel.



A large warning in obnoxious yellow and red text flashed at the top of the screen. It was a reminder that the containment chamber sent its signals through a separate cellular connection instead of the internet. An automatic query found reports of massive power and internet outages in Tribeca.

“Agent Mulder, do you might if I listen to headphones for a while?”

Mulder glanced at her as if she had interrupted him. Erin wondered if he had been talking the whole time. It could not be as important as these readings. Any of these on their own would be fine, likely a sign of experimentation, but this was too many changes.

“Go ahead. Mine’s already connected to the stereo system.”

Erin pulled out a pair of enormous black headphones.

The agent gave her an amused glance, “Are those heirlooms, Dr. Gilbert?”

“Mom said she would buy them if I would use them until they died,” she said with a distracted shrug. She fought with the short charging cable for a moment to get the headphones plugged in.

“In what, 1987? Pass me my phone,” he chuckled.

“1984,” she narrowed her eyes at him. She slid his significantly lighter phone across the seat.

“How many times have you resurrected them? Or are you just an Orwell fan?” the agent asked.

Erin settled the heavy black headphones onto her head. It was good that she remembered to bring them. There was too much to think about to waste time explaining EVP to an initiate. She plugged the trusty headphones into the modified port Holtz had installed for them. The custom alarm app was not particularly polished. Yet. The fifteen minute segments would not stop playing once she started them and he would surely have questions before end of the first one.

Wednesday was when things started changing with the containment chamber, so Erin skipped to the corresponding recordings. There was hardly more than the standard random bangs that they programmed the alarm system to ignore. She upped the volume and listened for several minutes more. Maybe the alarm system itself was malfunctioning-

The federal agent was trying to talk to her. His long fingers scrambled over unfamiliar controls. She took off the headset and startled.

Sounds played loudly from the car’s speaker Low muffled moans. Bangs. Sharp cries. Shrieks. A note or two of evil sounding laughter. Click-clacks like footsteps, maybe a horse.

"Uh sorry…I know it's not everyone's taste- ambient noise- helps me concentrate. I must have bumped the play button. At the next light, I'll fix it,” he said, the first break in his confident voice.

He risked a look at Erin and found her pale.

"You know, I have to change the lock code every week anyway. 1013." He tossed his phone to her. "Put that in, then pause it."

Erin followed the instructions. She drew in a sharp breath as the music app opened. There was a track queued up titled 'Ambient sounds from the week's top lesbian youporn vids, 11-28 to 12-04, 2016.'

"Should be a button on the home screen-" he winced.

She tapped the play/pause button. Instead of quieting the strange sounds that challenged the car’s speakers, more voices joined. “ _Mmmm, you look like a glazed donut,_ ” a nasal voice said.

"Scully is going to kill me," Mulder said with a sigh. "Wait - that one wasn't a group-"

A different voice replied, “ _Hot and fresh, open 24-_ ”

Erin pressed the button and the voices cut out. They had been playing directly from his phone. The car speakers shared more muffled moans with stomps.

"Oh! More of an industrial fan, huh?" Mulder exclaimed with relief. He glanced over at the statue of Dr Erin Gilbert in the passenger seat and gave her a sly grin. "Yeah, I could see that. Leave it if you want. Must've superseded my phone when you plugged it in."

"What?!" Erin woke from her daze and asked sharply.

"…or not. Just...your headphones won't work while your phone's plugged in."

The alarm system was their own design. It did not have many bells and whistles aside from the actual bells and whistles. The EVP recording playback completely took over the phone, for a max of 15 minutes. No volume options. No pause. Neither of them could find the car’s volume controls.

It did not matter. This, with all those other alarms, was a sure sign of paranormal activity, no matter what the disgusting agent implied. Erin gasped as she heard metal clattering and something like a growl. Two heavy stomps. A crash. Muffled moans.

"I'm surprised, Dr Gilbert. From your file I'd have guessed you all blush and tweed. You look a little pale. A lot."

Erin barely heard the agent. Her heart raced in her chest. Her hands shook as she checked the regular messages.

There was a message from Abby that their efforts to secure external funding were going well. Patty sent an odd message about ‘the v-neck grind’. Kevin sent several messages, but it seemed that he had confused her cell phone number with Google. The first one read ‘Hey mate, how do you make fish tacos for fish?’ On Wednesday and Thursday, Holtzmann had only sent a 'still alive' message instead of the goofy or inappropriate or brilliant - sometimes all three - messages she had sent the first two days Erin was away with the committee.

The last picture she sent was of the second floor's white board. It had equations they had been working on together. There were no extra comments or hidden doodles. Maybe Holtzmann had some kind of breakthrough that rattled the containment chamber.

Abby and Patty made no mention of the alarms in their messages. They both had the alarm system installed on their phone at the same time as Erin, but Patty had deleted the whole thing and Abby had turned all the notifications off. Not Erin. Hers would wake from sleep and use an extra emergency battery to turn on just enough to give a plain text reading.

"Doctor Gilbert," the agent called on some of his authority. He shifted, as if he felt uncomfortable doing it.

"Agent Mulder, how long ‘til we're back in New York?" she rushed, feeling nauseous and shaky

The agent swallowed a chuckle. "Soon. Pretty suggestive thing for someone to send you. I read that you Ghostbusters were close, but-”

"No, it's- you read my file?"

"And your book. Great stuff, though you are focused a bit much on this planet."

"The alarm system, the same one that monitors the ghost containment, is - there are indications of paranormal activity."

"That seems more like your file," the agent said, glancing out the driver window.

"What is wrong with you!" She stamped her foot hard enough that her heel tore into the car carpet. It made a loud ripping sound as she yanked her shoe free.

"That's probably a question Scully would answer better," he grinned.

"Who is that?"

"My partner."

"Oh! So you have a - I mean that's great for you guys- and the Supreme Court ruling and are you going to get married or-"

Mulder looked a little pale this time. "Federal agents work in pairs. Usually travel in them too."

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry" she said, hitting her head against the dashboard. An alarming muffled hammering sound played through the car speakers, then went silent.

Mulder looked at her with a surprised look on his face, "It's not the first time someone has wondered. Fox Mulder, partner of medical doctor Dana Scully."

"Wait- he's a doctor or federal agent?" Erin pressed the button to call all Ghostbusters phones in NYC

" _She_ is both," he emphasized the first word. "You know many male Dana's?”

"I've only known one Dana. He worked at the Columbia library- look you care about your partner, right?"

"I'd die for her. Already tried a few times, but she wouldn't let me."

"Two Ghostbusters might be hurt or worse. They aren't answering the main phone- well that's a good sign really - but Holtzmann would usually at least pick up and make some weird armpit noise or something. The recordings, the alarms, there could be-"

"The bureau updated the files right before the conference. It said you were single-"

Erin flailed her arms in frustration and accidentally started the next recording. "This is not some- some disgusting soundtrack. There is PLASMA. PROTON BEAMS. RADIOACTIVE GHOST CONTAINMENT, all in an old firehouse. I might be too late to help. Does this thing have lights or a siren? Who knows what is happening?"

The speaker played another evil laugh and muffled moans. Mulder bit the inside of his cheek. "Doctor-"

Something on the recording sounded almost familiar. Erin sharply told the agent to be quiet. It almost sounded like her name. It sounded upset, maybe scared. Then there was a quiet crack and more clacking foot steps.

Mulder's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His voice shifted to a determined calm. "No lights or siren, but we're almost to the helicopter. "

"Helicopter? You said we were driving the rest-"

"And now we're getting a helicopter," Mulder said. He held down a button on his phone that speed dialed an incredibly long number. Before any greeting, he gave their location, timing, and destination.

"The recording, it stopped. No significant sound picked up," Erin said.

His jaw tightened. "Uh huh. Look, about you and this Holtzmann guy. Are you a thing or-"

"D octor Holtzmann is not a guy," Erin interrupted with a brisk pace. "Or well, she kind of is, I guess. And not. Holtzmann is...Holtzmann. With a doctorate in physics. She’s a Ghostbuster."

Mulder's phone rang. Someone on the other end seemed to be confirming his request.

"Is T+9 hours still appropriate?" The voice was robotic and sharp.

"Can we do any better?" he said, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel

"It will mean an escalation report."

Mulder grimaced, as if that was usually enough to sway him from casual upgrades. "I'll see to it. Send me the new form. Get in touch with Skinner to schedule interviews. "

The mechanical voice missed a beat, "Preliminary reason required now, as can be shared with passenger in range."

"Potential hazard to colleagues or interests," Mulder said, as if reading from a book memorized long ago. One that he wished he could forget.

"Hazard level."

Without thinking, Erin burst out, "PLASMA, PROTONS-"

"Doctor Gilbert, protocol," he said with a glance that instantly quieted her.

"What else is in my file?" she muttered to the side window, her arms crossed petulantly over her chest.

Mulder rattled off several numbers, ending with "...potential 907 dash C."

"Any chance of 907 dash E or above?"

Mulder muttered something about "907 dash S."

"Agent, enunciate."

A flicker of doubt crossed over his face. Then he said a firm "No."

"In that case, stay on track for 7.3 km, take a right at an unmarked country road. Helicopter will be waiting 1.2 km down."

"Fast. But Unmarked?"

"Look for the black mailbox."

Mulder snorted. "Nice touch"

The voice at the other end crackled a response that did not confirm or deny anything, then the call dropped.

"Impressive," Erin said with a sigh.

Mulder was quiet for a moment. He droned, "FBI files have education, altercations, favorite foods, entertainment, relationships, career. How you like sugar on your tomatoes and salt on your apples..."

"Sounds like they know everything," she sighed. Erin wanted to be outraged, but she was too worried about the young man who had only won lotterythe appearance portion of the genetic library and the...Holtzmann, the genius who made their theory into reality and sometimes forgot to refill the fire extinguisher until there was a fire to remind her.

"Not everything. At least one thing missing from yours," he said, watching carefully for the hidden drive.

"Right- There's the black mailbox, opposite side of the road," Erin said.

"Wouldn't it be great if I said 'oh no, that's where the road is', then turn off and it suddenly appeared?"

"Like a ghost road?" she said tiredly.

"Or a secret government road, cloaked by alien tech."

"Guess you had fun reading my 'incomplete' file," she sneered.

"Bump your security clearance up a few more notches and you'll see some data, Dr. Gilbert."

Erin sighed. Her throat tightened. "I'm a little too worried about things I know exist at the moment to care about anything more extraterrestrial than ectoplasm. How do you know mine is incomplete anyway?"

Mulder turned on the actual country road. It was hilly and unpaved. The tires kicked up gravel.

"Scully wants the statistical data and scientific proof like you. It's good. But not if you discard everything else."

"Is this a philosophy lesson from the guy who had sounds of feigned procreation ready on his work phone, while on duty as a special agent?" Erin said sharply.

"No procreation. Forget part of the title, Doc?" he snapped at her as the helicopter came into view.

"No," she said, a beat too late. "But you get my point."

Mulder pulled the car off the road. He looked at her steadily. "You think good old Uncle Sammy doesn't know every little thing about me? Think my partner, friends, boss...anyone doesn't know? Why hide it?"

"Basic decency," she said harshly.

"All of my friends would rather me be honest and happy. Are yours so different?"

Erin huffed, "How dare-"

"You have a long helicopter ride to figure it out, Ghost Girl," Mulder said as he left the car. The wicked wind of the helicopter blades meant he had the last word. He turned and jogged up on long legs to meet the pilot.

Erin found a bit more adrenaline for her rage. The timing of his comments meant she was not at her best. It was not the first time a man let her be alone in her humiliation. Even though there was no signal out in the country, she tried one more time to call everyone.

When she caught sight of him in the side mirror, he looked annoyed that she was still sitting in the quiet car. He started to walk over to the car and she tried to get out like she had not seen him. She grabbed her bag and walked on her toes through the muddy field. Then she kicked them off and sprinted to the helicopter.

After she got geared up and strapped in, Erin typed up a group message, "Hey! Guess who got called Ghost Girl by Mr Important Special Agent Guy....it was me. Haha. It didn't bother me like, AT ALL." Erin read it over again to check for typos or grammar or autocorrect errors. It sounded like the haha would be a nervous laugh, but it was true that the silly old nickname did not hurt anymore. There was something else she did want to say, but it would turn into a big sappy message about all of them being so great and helping her embrace the nickname.

Mercifully, the agent sat with his back to her. The phone shook in her hands as the helicopter lifted off. A dialog box appeared and asked if she wanted to undo typing. She touched yes and switched back to the alarms. The boring gray of the custom app was still riddled with mild warnings. She opened a notes app and began to record what she remembered of the agent’s conversation.

The helicopter lurched just as her heart leapt into her throat.

907 dash S. More like 907 dash Scully?

She remembered the weird advice from the nicotine-stained committee student. "Trust no one."

They would not be the first agency, not even the first time for the FBI, to try to take Holtzmann's work, likely to make weapons against the living out of them. After those attempts and some lengthy explanations about the mad engineer's humor meant that they had finally gotten Holtzmann's word that she would not talk to them alone. Or make faces or noises or or or.

Maybe all those government officials were willing to listen because it might give an agent a chance to get close to Holtzmann alone. That sounded more likely than anyone actually wanting to hear about metaphysics, especially from her. And they got this weird guy - did they think he was her type? - for what? Did they think he would distract her to buy them more time? And the convention-

No. Or yes. Maybe.

But the important thing is what had happened at the firehouse. And for that, at least, she had some hard data.


	2. Doctor Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday
> 
> The old Hook & Ladder 8 firehouse

**Tuesday**  
  
“More than a decade and all I’ve seen is few monsters and flashy lights,” Scully sighed and watched the readouts on the containment chamber. The engineer did not hear the complaint.  
  
Though the younger blonde was a PhD level physicist, Scully could not help but think of her as an engineer. Her hands moved with a practiced ease as she machined an unidentified piece of metal. Oversized yellow ear protectors sat on her head, which clashed horribly with her yellow goggles. Scully wore a borrowed pair of teal ear protectors with the initials “E.G.” carefully engraved within flowers. There were other pairs on a far wall, but these were on her work bench. When Scully protested, the engineer had simply pointed to the door.  
  
A spark of light broke Scully’s musing. Holtzmann pulled the odd disc from lathe and put it on top of another identical disc. When her hands left, the pair of discs looked like a single piece metal to Scully. Holtzmann measured with calipers, then stuck out her tongue and made a raspberry at the second disc. A well-worn wingtip shoe pressed on a pedal. The lathe started up again, and whined against the metal of the second disc.  A sheen of sweat revealed the hidden tone of her upper arms and the careful movements necessary for exacting precision. Her outfit did not seem appropriate for machining. Holtzmann wore loose suit pants, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way to her shoulders, and a vest. It was a suit vest, but it had a patch that read ‘Gone Fishin’. This definitely fit her file, but not her other documented behaviors, such as talking over much. So far, the engineer had found ways for the second floor to be either too loud or too distracting to answer Scully’s questions.  
  
Scully sat down and pulled out a small notebook. As suspected, Jillian Holtzmann was a brilliant artist as well as a scientist. There was no outside tech or influence, Earthly or otherwise. Why Skinner thought it was worth a week of her time was a greater mystery. She noted down all her observations to include in the write-up.  
  
It took a moment for Scully to realize that the lathe had stopped. Holtzmann looked at her with a concerned expression on her face.  
  
“Dr. Holtzmann?”  
  
“Just Holtzmann, but you really shouldn’t sit so close to the containment chamber,” she said nervously.  
  
“Oh,” Scully got up immediately and walked toward the work bench. “Why not?”  
  
“It’s hot enough over there as it is,” Holtzmann slurped the remnants of an orange drink up a chewed up straw, then gave her a slow wink.  
  
“I add very little to the ambient radiation.”  
  
Holtzmann seemed unsurprised by Scully’s dry response to the flirtatious comment, but the disappointment was more palpable than expected. It was unconventional, but the engineer was not a suspect in a case. There was no harm in playing along.  
  
“Do you know the sievert rating?”  
  
“For you or the ghosties?” Holtzmann said as she lined up the silvery discs again. They looked no different to Scully, but the engineer was satisfied.  
  
“As they are already dead, I do not see the relevance to them.”  
  
Holtzmann grunted, an amused little smile on her face, like a teacher might give a new student. “I’m reworking shielding. The dose is about one microsievert.”  
  
“Per day?”  
  
“Uh-uh,” the engineer said, as if that was a reasonable response.  
  
“Timing then?”  
  
“As close as you were? About an hour for that dose. Now you’re more in the week territory.”  
  
“You wear hearing protection and goggles, but you stand next to the equivalent of an arm x-ray everyday?” Scully said, bewildered.  
  
“Or using one of those old CRT heavyweights for a year or so. Bench is lined with lead, Doctor Agent.”  
  
“What about from your hips up?” Scully immediately realized she had set herself up. She swallowed a groan.  
  
Holtzmann set down her tools and put the back of her hand on her forehead. She gave a dramatic sigh and fell to the floor.  
  
“It is a valid concern. I am a medical doctor,” Scully said with a stern tone.  
  
A laugh bubbled up from behind the work bench. Holtzmann put on a ridiculous breathy southern belle accent. “Oh, Doctor Agent, I’m feeling faint.”  
  
Scully was tempted to walk up and see what the Ghostbuster was up to behind the bench. After accidentally setting herself up for jokes within a minute of deciding to play along with the engineer, she was not going to fall into a trap.  
  
The notes of a song drifted from speakers behind the bench. They sounded familiar, but the music was too low for Scully to place it.    
  
Holtzmann appeared and the volume of the song rose with her. The engineer had an enormous wrench up to her mouth like a microphone. Instead of singing or directly mouthing the words, her mouth moved off-time as if she were part of a horrible voice-over.    
  
_♫ The heat is on, on the street. Inside your head, on every beat. ♫_  
  
This behavior was not expected, but Mulder had done weirder things while driving a car. Scully watched with a cool expression on her face.  
  
Holtzmann changed her tactic. She slammed the wrench down on the end of her work bench and leapt onto it. She mimicked watching Scully’s back, then gave her a slow look from her red hair all the way down to her practical pumps.  
  
_♫ Oh-whoa-ho, oh-whoa-ho. Caught up in the action I've been looking out for you. ♫_  
  
The engineer’s antics continued until she stood in arm’s reach. She took a step closer and Scully did not move. Holtzmann stepped closer still Scully could smell mint and citrus on her breath.  
  
Scully spoke in time with the song, “Tell me can you feel it.”  
  
A beautiful blue fire burned in the engineer’s eyes, like the flame of a blowtorch. “ _♫_ _The heat is_ -”  
  
“ _♫_ _On! The heat is on! ♫_ ” a deeper voice said. Kevin started dancing around to the song.  
  
“Foul beast! What dark force hath summoned thee from below?” Holtzmann said in an imperious tone. Her nostrils flared impressively wide.  
  
“Down under, I think that’s what you wanted,” Kevin said with sympathy.  
  
Holtzmann threw her head back and groaned. It was not clear how the incredibly unattractive angle Holtzmann used to peer at Scully should be interpreted.  
  
“Australia,” he continued over the song.  
  
Holtzmann walked back to her workbench, crouched and dragging her hands as if they weighed several tons.  
  
The young man was a conundrum. He was gorgeous, but given his level of conversation, Scully was rather surprised that he could navigate stairs. Now, he danced as if he was born to do it. As the music faded, Scully heard a small sigh from the workbench.  
  
Suddenly, Kevin froze. “The phone!” he exclaimed and ran down the stairs.  
  
“I did not hear a phone,” Scully said, bewildered.  
  
The music clicked off. Holtzmann shrugged and returned to her measurements. The fire in her eyes was replaced by something that seemed more familiar, no matter how cold and uncomfortable it was. Scully watched closely and found herself distracted. Her training as an agent and a doctor helped her find the hints of curves under the baggy clothing. Kevin could be a Ralph Lauren model, but Holtzmann was more interesting. If she wore a dress and a different haircut, she would be breathtaking. Scully understood the reasoning. Who would take her seriously as a particle physicist? What could be further from the woman’s natural state than a dress and heels?  
  
“Are you satisfied with the results?” Scully asked from the opposite side of the work bench. She eyed the strong, careful fingers as they moved the metal discs.  
  
Holtzmann opened her mouth to respond, but ended up propping it open with her tongue pressed on the underside of her back teeth.  
  
“Your work is admirably precise, especially from an elderly lathe like this one.”  
  
The engineer’s face snapped up at her, carrying a horrified expression. In a haughty English accent, she declared “We do not talk about the Monarch in such fashion, Doctor!”  
  
“Why is that? There are newer versions where designs could be made in AutoCAD, easily to replicate.”  
  
“Don’t put a computer where you don’t need one, Doctor Agent. Free advice.”  
  
“This machine served its purpose, but there are newer models.”  
  
Something clicked for the engineer, a slight shift in her posture made her shoulders look broader. “They lock’em up, too. This one, I know every little piece. Know what she sounds like when something’s not right. Know the purr when everything is running smooth.”  
  
“Is it a true preference or a budget concern?”  
  
“Better to have experience than be shiny and new.” Holtzmann met her eyes briefly, then returned to work.  
  
“So you never stray from the Queen?”  
  
“Lathes don’t get jealous,” Holtzmann said abruptly. She picked up the discs and took them to a different machine. Sparks began to fly as the first disc was moved under an engraving stone.  
  
“Again, a machine that has seen vast advances,” Scully said.  
  
“Maybe we just have different tastes,” Holtzmann said without turning. “In my work, I prefer manual to automatic.”  
  
Combined with the looks and statements that clearly hinted a preference for older women, Scully could not help the blush on her cheeks.  
  
“Speak up if I’m wrong,” Holtzmann prompted.  
  
“I’ve always preferred five speed shifting.”  
  
—  
  
The worn dress shoe lifted off the pedal abruptly. Holtzmann blew off the metal shavings and turned the disc in the light. After months of courting another redhead and getting nothing but tests of the cold emergency shower, Holtzmann was not prepared for the agent’s direct flirting.  
  
Agent Scully was close to Abby and Erin’s age, but the FBI had physical demands of their operatives that few research scientists observed. Her heels were endearingly plain, but they still did an amazing job highlighting trim, strong calves. Her posture was strong and assured. Without a word, Agent Scully’s mouth called for her attention. She had noticed looks at her own hands, the muscle of her arms, well-moisturized lips. It felt unreal to have a beautiful, intelligent woman interested in her work and maybe more, even it was only words.  
  
It had been difficult not to answer the direct questions when the visitor showed such genuine interest. Yet, she had promised Abby, Erin, and Patty that there would no talking about Ghostbusters’ stuff without them. There was more than one way to keep her word.  
  
—  
  
“If you have clearance to speak of it, what are these discs? Why the precision?”  
  
“Ease of replicating airborne trajectories and balance for reliable performance,” Holtzmann said as she polished the bottom of a disc.  
  
“Part of a device?”  
  
Holtzmann did not respond.  
  
“What about a name?”  
  
“Frisbees,” Holtzmann said in reasonable tone.  
  
Scully snorted. “No need to give false information, Dr. Holtzmann.”  
  
“Holtzmann, Doctor Agent.”  
  
“Then that’s Doctor Agent Scully to you,” Scully grinned.  
  
The engineer cracked the first uncalculated smile since Scully’s arrival the day before. “Will do, Doctor Agent Scully,” she gave a small salute.  
  
“Call me Scully,” she offered. “That would become obnoxious quickly.”  
  
“Copying me? I’m flattered,” Holtzmann said. She set aside the discs, covered them with cloth, and began to sweep up the metal shavings by the machines.  
  
“Oh no, Holtzmann. I’ve been Scully since ‘93. Which put you in what, third grade?”  
  
“You win this round,” Holtzmann said, over a Shop-Vac's work to clean up the small pile of silvery fragments.  
  
“Frisbees,” Scully repeated with disbelief.  
  
“For Kevin’s team,” Holtzmann said.  
  
“Is he in a league of some kind?”  
  
“Yep,” Holtzmann replied, overemphasizing the final ‘p’ noise.  
  
“A local frisbee team? A rec club?”  
  
“Hide and seek.”  
  
Scully gave her a dim look. Holtzmann shrugged and checked the integrity of the drill bit on the engraver.  
  
“A hide and seek- Why would a hide and seek team need a frisbee?”  
  
Holtzmann met her eyes and spoke low. “He’s on a frisbee team, but he does the hide and seek part. You know, like the seeker, except he’s the snitch and sits still.”  
  
Scully gave her a concerned look, reevaluating the mark on her forehead from yesterday’s run-in with the desk. “There is no hide and-”  
  
A dangerous and protective spark came to Holtzmann’s blue eyes. In that moment, Scully understood. This was something new to add to Holtzmann and Kevin’s files.  
  
“I see. I must not be familiar with NYC’s version,” Scully said a little louder.  
  
Holtzmann’s shoulders relaxed and she flashed a grateful smile to Scully. The agent found herself suppressing a schoolgirl giggle.  
  
“Yet, what is the purpose of metal discs? Isn’t that rather dangerous and heavy.”  
  
“The lads need training!” Kevin appeared at the top of the stairs, as if summoned from the ether. “I can’t do all the work,” he finished with a wink.  
  
Scully saw the young man look her over and felt a wave of nausea. She glanced at Holtzmann, worried she might offend the adopted big sister, and found a look that promised all manner of methods to soothe any discomfort the agent might be feeling.  
  
“Check it out, Kev-bot!” Holtzmann said after a beat, with a flourish to reveal the two shiny discs.  
  
Kevin put both of his hands up in the air like an excited child. “Wow! Those look really nice. They even catch moonlight!”  
  
Scully glanced out the window, where the sun still dominated the sky.  
  
“Will you put the logo on them?” Kevin said hopefully.  
  
“Already done,” Holtzmann winked. She held up the heavy discs with ease, then flipped them over to reveal perfect etchings of a large hot-dog over a small house.  
  
“Those are the best hiding markers ever!” Kevin rushed over to collect them from Holtzmann.  
  
Scully tried to look nonchalant as she processed the strange detail.  
  
“Never mind her, she’s new,” Holtzmann said in a stage whisper.  
  
"Oh that's alright. Girls can't play anyway," Kevin said cheerfully.  
  
Holtzmann withdrew the discs and held them away from him.  
  
"Well, it wouldn't be fair, right? They're smaller!"  
  
"It would be an unfair advantage," Scully said with a nod.  
  
"Well, is there a women’s team?" Holtzmann said, tapping her foot.  
  
"There is, but no one can find them."  
  
Holtzmann snorted. “Good one, Kevbot!’  
  
Kevin clasped his hands together and fretted. “They all hid and no one ever found them again. Not ever.”  
  
Scully started to wonder if the man played dumb for sport, but Holtzmann quieted her laugh instantly. She handed the discs to Kevin and his face reverted back to excitement.  
  
“Just in time for practice! I- uh- came to tell you I was going.”  
  
“Remember, if they can’t find you, we still need you back here in morning, no matter how bad you want to help them practice finding,” Holtzmann said with the cool authority of an older sister.  
  
“You got it,” he grinned. Kevin wrapped his arms around the discs like they were his favorite teddy bear and raced down the stairs.  
  
When he was gone, Scully rubbed her forehead. “How-?”  
  
Holtzmann’s cheeks blew up. She smacked the sides of them to let the air out quickly, shrugging her shoulders as she did. The engineer busied herself with another unidentifiable project.  
  
“It sounds rather fun,” Scully said after a moment.  
  
Holtzmann shook her head, as if she had been dozing.  
  
“Frisbee, with a hide and seek twist. Maybe there would bonus points if you catch a disc while you are hiding.”   
  
Holtzmann set her drink down and sauntered around the bench. She rested her elbows on it, accentuating her shoulders and showing the muscles that Scully had noticed earlier. “You know, you are downright exothermic.”  
  
“Most humans are, Holtzmann.”  
  
“You’re so modest. Is it because you get that reaction a lot?” Holtzmann gave her a wide grin.  
  
Scully stared at her for a moment, then could not help laughing. It was a ridiculous line, but the direct and playful approach was refreshing. Scully reviewed the mission parameters in her head once more. She was supposed to evaluate possibility of outside influence on the tech, but she did not have to gather the tech itself. No prohibition on intimate contact. The assignment revolved around gaining an understanding of Holtzmann.  
  
“My personal heat output is negligible when compared to what friction between two bodies can produce,” Scully said, her eyes locked with Holtzmann’s.  
  
Holtzmann made a sharp grunt. Her fingers grabbed the edges of the bench.  
  
Scully took a step closer.  
  
“♫ _Tell me can you feel it ♫_ ,” Holtzmann half-sang.  
  
“♫ _The heat ♫_ -”  
  
Two warm hands held her waist. She smelled citrus and mint breath. Scully was not accustomed to kissing someone she met less than 24 hours ago, but there was always room for an exception. Holtzmann’s full lips pressed against her own. It was a soft touch, but it was far from timid. In her heels, she was a bit taller, but her arms naturally crossed behind Holtzmann’s neck. She felt Holtzmann’s posture shift to reach back with one foot and flip a switch labeled 'EXPERIMENTAL SAFETY LIGHT’. Her toe caught on another knob that dimmed the bright overhead lights.  
  
It was a bold and suggestive move. Scully heard herself make a soft sound of appreciation. Holtzmann’s tongue flashed into her mouth, just long enough to trace a single line down the middle of Scully’s tongue. Before Holtzmann could completely withdraw, Scully caught her tongue and pulled it back into her mouth with a gentle, insistent suction. Holtzmann groaned into the kiss. When Scully released her hold, Holtzmann toyed with her tongue with playful soft licks that almost tickled.  
  
The playfulness continued until it became frustrating. Scully pressed herself against Holtzmann and lashed her tongue forward to take over. She was not certain how, but Holtzmann parried her advance with a practiced ease. There was one last ticklish touch, then Holtzmann invaded her mouth, claiming every surface.

One of Holtzmann’s hands left her waist for a moment. Scully thought she saw a camera flash of red through her eyelids, but the angle of Holtzmann’s arm meant the picture would not have included her.  Holtzmann’s hand returned to Scully’s waist, gripping firmly through the thick fabric of her suit. Scully made a small gasp of surprise as Holtzmann easily picked her up and walked forward. There was a cool, smooth surface at her back as Holtzmann set her down.  
  
The younger woman’s touch was firm and claiming, but far from rough. It had the same experienced confidence Scully saw when Holtzmann’s hands moved the discs at the lathe. Scully had to consciously keep her hips from moving forward for more contact.  
  
Holtzmann’s hands moved up her sides, then back down, learning the lines hidden by the bulky suit. Her hands paused under the edge of the suit jacket. Scully adjusted her body to ease Holtzmann’s fingertips under the jacket’s edge. Holtzmann encouraged Scully to-  
  
An ear-piercing shriek of an alarm tore them from the moment. As Scully looked around to identify the problem, Holtzmann raced for a fire extinguisher. Smoke rose from behind the large containment chamber. Holtzmann leapt onto a nearby counter and sprayed the back of the device. The alarm did not clear, but Holtzmann did not seem to notice. She pulled a key from her vest pocket and opened a small door. An extra readout screen and full keyboard were hidden behind it. Holtzmann’s fingers flew over the keys. “Where are you?” she whispered to the component that caused the electric fire. Without looking, she pulled out her phone and dialed in a long code. The siren calmed, but Scully still heard its ringing in her ears.  
  
Holtzmann growled suddenly. She slammed the keyboard back into place and locked the door.

Scully's would-be lover strapped on a worn leather tool belt with no empty spaces or pouches. It had a mix of familiar tools and several that were likely made on the lathe. Holtzmann set up a flashlight to shine behind the chamber, touched metal to ground herself, then set to work.  
  
As Scully watched the engineer’s intense focus, she could not help feeling stinted. The genius mind that took equations and crafted real solutions was seductive before her direct and playful manner or the untold glory of her body were considered.    
  
Holtzmann leaned back. She gestured with an odd triangular tool to the back of the chamber, “This is my night now.” She gave Scully a longing, slow once-over.  
  
Scully decided Holtzmann would have another chance, but would not get the lead so easily next time. "Tomorrow."

Holtzmann gave her an irresistible grin that showed deep dimples. " _♫ The shadows high on the darker side. Behind the doors, it's a wilder ride. ♫_ "

Scully responded without singing the next lyrics. She crossed her arms and issued a challenge. "You can make a break, you can win or lose. That's a chance you take, when the heat's on you."

Holtzmann's grin took on a confident, mischievous shape. She twirled a wrench in her fingers as easily as a ballpoint pen. The blue flame returned to her eyes as she accepted. "The heat is on."


	3. Holtzmann's Workshop [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday
> 
> The Firehouse
> 
> aka: The reason the EVP recorder activated

**Late Tuesday Evening**  
  
“What is wrong with you?” Holtzmann said to the chamber. She sat alone to work. She hummed and occasionally drummed to her eclectic music collection as it played on shuffle. Her lap was covered in tools. She held up a dangerously bright flashlight and looked over the back of the device for the 100th time since Scully left. Everything looked fine, back to normal. The radiation readings were still oddly low.  
  
“Listen up, Miss Chamber. I think you’re a gem, really I do.  We’re close. But this tantrum of yours means I’m up the wrong skirt tonight.” She shook a wrench at the large unit and flipped on the safety light for kicks. It pulsed in time with the music.  
  
Holtzmann paused, as if waiting for the machine to respond. Her flashlight glared off the metal casing. She gasped, “Ada Lovelace! I can’t believe you!” She stood up abruptly and several tools clattered to the ground. Holtzmann paced away from the containment chamber. The old leather soles of her shoes made it easy to whirl around. She gestured with her arms wide at the chamber,  “She came onto me with song lyrics! Goofy ones, in her Super Professional Woman Skirt Suit. And here we are.”  
  
Holtzmann grunted, then crouched to retrieve her tools. She put the pipe wrenches, torque wrenches, and screwdrivers back in place on her belt. Something was missing.  
  
The triangle. It was a simple dinner triangle, but it was an amusing way to call the group’s attention sometimes.  It had slid partway under the chamber.  Holtzmann retrieved it and held it by its string. She rang it with a small screwdriver.  
  
The sound seemed dull somehow. If anything, it should be slightly more interesting near the contained ghosts and the rack of charging proton packs. Another ring gave the same result. A chill crept up Holtzmann’s spine. Holtzmann dropped to the floor and rolled onto the back. She covered half the flashlight with her hand, making a red glow shine on the underside of the chamber. She slammed her fist down hard on the old firehouse floor.  
  
“Sorry about what I said, Miss C,” Holtzmann said, her teeth showing a little more than usual. “You’re a true friend.”  
  
—  
  
**Wednesday, Early Morning**  
  
Holtzmann woke with the sunrise. Immediately after a particularly cruel cold shower, she had crashed at the firehouse. Her hair was wild and fluffy, shifting with every movement. She paced behind the workbench with a cold burrito in one hand and an oversized container of Tang in the other. The food and drink used the bare minimum amount of her attention. Her eyes were fixed on a small device sat under a magnifying lens. It was ovoid and flexible. It was glossy black like the containment chamber wire it had been hiding on. She continued to pace long after the burrito wrapper was empty and the straw made obnoxious noises with each drink.  
  
Finally, she tossed the trash and went to the back corner behind the bench. She walked past an incredibly well worn leather couch, a hammock, and a full fridge to a closet. She hauled out an oft-repaired punching bag. With a small grunt of effort, she jumped and secured it onto the hook dangling from the ceiling.  
  
Her fists had ached for a face to destroy every time an outsider messed with the equipment. But none of them had ever messed with her.  
  
Normally, she would put on gloves. Cracked knuckles had bothered Erin.  
  
“Redheads,” she growled and slammed her bare fist into the bag.  
  
Of all the equipment to mess with, the chamber was the most dangerous. The packs were volatile, but only when they were in use. Good old Kev-bot would have had a better idea.  
  
Without thinking, Holtzmann’s fists moved in time with music, this time Hanson’s “MmmBop.” The device itself was fascinating. It seem to attract ambient radioactive isotopes and use them as its fuel source. Whoever made it was not prepared for the unique radiation generated by spooks, which is likely what caused the fire. She had never seen anything like it, but she could not confirm the idea. It was too dangerous to slice open and she lacked the diagnostic tools for something so small.  
  
The skin of her knuckles began to surrender to the rough texture of the bag. When the first drop of blood joined the sweat on the back of her hand, Holtzmann had an idea. She could create a device on a larger scale that did what the little device seemed to do. It would be much better than lead shielding. It would even make Abby happy, because it would save on electricity.  
  
Holtzmann kicked off her shoes and socks, then stripped off her shirt. She balled them up and threw them into a hamper near the closet. After wiping her hands dry, she put on gloves to use the bar on the wall for a few chin-ups. She wrapped her arms around the bag to pull it free of its hook, then paused. Usually, when an idea came, the bag could be put away.  
  
This was not over yet. She pushed the bag away angrily, like it had given her an unwanted hug. When the bag swung back toward her, both of her fists impacted it. She returned to her rhythmic jabs and occasional kicks.  
  
Holtzmann was angry with herself. This should have been obvious, but Agent Scully seemed genuine. It did not make sense for an FBI agent to show up alone and encourage her advances, especially n older, intelligent redhead who hid a killer body under conservative clothes. This was not a flashy spy movie.  
  
“That’s for sure in a file somewhere,” Holtzmann said, her voice breathy from exertion. She changed the focus to kicks, jumping up and slamming her foot hard into the bag. “Naughty agents.”  
  
Holtzmann fought with the punching bag until sweat ran down her spine like rain. There was something more to this that she was missing. She could not call Abby about something like this. It had to be figured out alone. The white board caught her attention. The smudged equations taunted her. Somehow, they made her feel guilty. It was Erin’s board, after all. A memory of Erin at the board, only a few days before she left for the committee deal, popped into Holtzmann’s mind. Dr. Gilbert had been wearing a houndstooth pleated skirt, a little shorter than her normal ones, and heels. She had turned at just the right time to see Holtzmann’s eyes follow the line from her ankle, up her calf, and imagine the line as it continued to her waist. Erin had not given the usual oblivious ‘what are you doing’ look. She had blushed a beautiful pink before turning back to the board. Her marker hovered above the next blank spot for more than breath.  
  
“You know, you don’t have to be such a tease, Erin,” Holtzmann had said.  
  
Erin had startled and dropped the marker and the lid.  
  
“The board isn’t shy. Go on, mark it up.”  
  
Maybe it had been too much, but the next thing Erin did made it difficult to tell. With only a slight bend in her knees, Erin bent over and picked up the marker. Her skirt rose high on her slender thighs. Her balanced stayed true on the high heels. She returned to her equations without a look or a word to Holtzmann.  
  
Normally anal-retentive about keeping markers from drying up, Erin had not looked for the lid. Holtzmann spotted it now, in between Erin’s desk and the wall. That would have been a glorious sight in-  
  
Holtzmann hugged the bag to stop it.  
  
Scully was never alone on the second floor. She could not have planted it. Holtzmann would have noticed her laying on her back and sliding under the chamber in her skirt and heels.  
  
On cue, heeled shoes clacked up the stairs. Agent Scully wore a nearly identical skirt suit, in black instead of navy. Her eyes lingered on Holtzmann’s soaked sports bra and toned stomach.  
  
“Did or someone you know plant any devices here?” Holtzmann said in a rush.  
  
“Not to my knowledge. And good morning, Holtzmann. Long night?”  
  
“Good morning. You’re here early.”  
  
“Routine physical exercise is important. I apologize for interrupting.”  
  
Holtzmann blew a wet blonde curl from her forehead. She gestured to her sweaty form. “So, here’s choices: I stay this way-”  
  
“It is a look I appreciate, though I’d rather it all be earned with me.”  
  
All the adrenaline of the outrage and last night’s denial rushed to Holtzmann’s mind. She continued her list, grateful she had something ready to say, “…or I send you downstairs and I shower.”  
  
“No third option to join you?”  
  
Holtzmann let out a low whistle. “It’s an emergency shower, really. Not good for two.”  
  
“I’ll take the fourth option then.”  
  
Holtzmann crossed her sweaty arms and waited.  
  
“To watch you,” Scully said in a matter-of-fact tone.  
  
—  
  
After the looks Holtzmann gave her, Scully was surprised to find herself downstairs. Water poured onto the floor above with high pressure. A smell of basic soap, without fragrance or fancy additives, wafted down the stairs.  
  
“Coffee?” the young man asked, seemingly unscathed after his practice.  
  
“No thank you.”  
  
“It’s terrible,” he said, almost as if it were a recommendation.  
  
“Good to know.”  
  
He gave her a playful wink. Scully hid her shudder.  
  
Less than five minutes later, Holtzmann appeared at the top of stairs. She wore suit pants again, this time paired with short sleeved button-up shirt and suspenders.  After greeting the young man at the front desk, Holtzmann offered her arm.  
  
Scully eyed the oddly traditional gesture, worried about unknowingly making an agreement.  
  
“This is the same one from yesterday,” Kevin said in a whisper meant for Holtzmann. “She can do the stairs part by herself.”  
  
“Just so she doesn’t have to walk up alone if she doesn’t want to.”  
  
Scully gave a small nod and accepted Holtzmann’s offer.  
  
“So, if the safety light is on, you can come out, but I can’t go up?” Kevin clarified.  
  
“That’s it,” Holtzmann nodded, realizing she had forgotten to turn it off. Might as well leave it on.  
  
—  
  
Holtzmann found herself up against the whiteboard. Scully had maneuvered her there with a move likely learned from an FBI combat trainer. Part of Holtzmann’s mind wanted to push back and renew her claim. The rest of her was in love. Not with Scully, but with the clear evidence of being wanted. That, and the older woman had managed it in heels.  
  
Scully’s full lips pressed down her neck, following a vein, chasing her heartbeat. Holtzmann unbuttoned the black jacket and shrugged it off Scully’s shoulders. It fell to the floor in a small pile around Scully’s feet. The agent lifted it on one heel, then tossed it onto a nearby chair. Holtzmann saw the chance to retake the lead. She reached up and angled her hips to move Scully against the board.  
  
Instead of pressing against her lover’s hips, Holtzmann found a strong upper thigh between her legs. When she gasped, Scully overtook her mouth, teasing her tongue with wickedly fast flicks. Holtzmann unzipped Scully’s skirt and smirked into the kiss. One move away and it would fall.  
  
Though they had a few things in common, Holtzmann chided herself for forgetting that this was not the nervous scientist she had been chasing. Scully made quick work of the button and zipper of Holtzmann’s pants, the unclasped the front of the suspenders at the same time. They twanged against her chest, then dropped uselessly on her arms.  
  
“Go on, no need to be shy. I am a physician. I’ve seen it all before,” Scully said, her breath tickling Holtzmann’s ear.  
  
“That’s no way to make a girl feel special,” Holtzmann chided her.  
  
“You’re right,” Scully said, unbuttoning Holtzmann’s shirt.  
  
Holtzmann let it fall, waiting for Scully’s next move.  
  
The angle of Scully’s leg changed slightly. It was still a firm hold, but not as intense. One of Scully’s hands traced Holtzmann’s collarbone, then down the middle of her chest and stomach. Her fingers continued under the open pants. They boldly traced the hidden arch, halting just above the exposed bundle of nerve endings that ached to be touched.  
  
Holtzmann cried out, surprised.  
  
Scully tightened her stomach to stand up straight. Her skirt fell to the floor. Holtzmann admired the trim figure in innocent matching lacy underwear and heels. She stepped out of her shoes and kicked away her pants.  
  
“From your behavior, I guess that you normally lead, but have a preference for managing your partner’s pleasure above your own. Is this correct?”  
  
Holtzmann blinked at her. She was used to lovers that needed time, that needed seduction, affection, and reassurance. They were often uncertain of what to do next. They could not summarize their own wants, let alone hers. Holtzmann gave a quick nod, trying to stayconfident.  
  
“I also prefer leading my partner’s pleasure, but not as you do. This is new, so I will allow you one for one.”  
  
“Say again?”  
  
“For every climax of mine, one for you.”  
  
Holtzmann stood up straight and crossed her arms. She looked Scully over and sighed.  
  
“Negotiate if you want.”  
  
“You’re making promises you can’t keep, gorgeous,” Holtzmann said with a shake of her head.  
  
Scully raised an eyebrow at her. “You assume quite a bit.”  
  
“Look who's talking. The second one, not the one with the dogs.”  
  
“It is better to be clear about terms.”  
  
“If this is a business deal for you, I’m out,” Holtzmann said, leaving the whiteboard.  
  
“Personal, off the books.”  
  
Holtzmann shook her head, “Had to be something.” She walked to her workbench in a simple sports bra and close-fitting boxer briefs. She smoothed back her hair and started moving components.  
  
“Too impersonal for you?”  
  
“Something like that,” Holtzmann said quietly. She heard the distinct sound of heels approaching and fought to keep her eyes on her work.  
  
“I have found it better to manage expectations in advance,” Scully said with an apologetic tone.  
  
“Worried about resistance or something?” Holtzmann pointed her voice to the workbench.  
  
“Oh, no, I find that quite enjoyable. This has been tame so far,” Scully said with a soft smile.  
  
“Managing expectations.”  
  
“You’re right, this is not how we started. I damaged the playful aspect. It’s been a long-I’d forgotten. Maybe you can help me remember.”  
  
Holtzmann risked a glance at the redhead now standing in arm’s reach. She hooked her thumbs in her bra straps like they were suspenders and started to wander away from the bench. As Holtzmann walked past, Scully reached out for her shoulder. Her fingertips barely touched Holtzmann’s skin, but it was perfect.  
  
Holtzmann captured the older woman’s arm and shoulder with her own, then her free hand threaded through red hair. She pressed forward with her body until Scully’s face touched the stainless steel surface of the workbench.  
  
“Whose workshop is this?” Holtzmann said, keeping a knee against Scully’s spine.  
  
Scully grinned, “That is-”  
  
Holtzmann made an annoyeing ‘ehhhh’ wrong answer alarm sound in Scully’s ear. She adjusted their positions to keep Scully bent over the workbench. Holtzmann trapped Scully’s hands in one of hers. She leveraged her body and strength to limit Scully’s escape options.    
  
“Holtzmann-”  
  
“That is the right answer, wrong timing. I’ll help you remember,” Holtzmann said against Scully’s neck. She adjusted her hold on Scully’s arms, then untangled her fingers from the red strands. The agent likely had several maneuvers that would break Holtzmann's grip, so she would have to make certain Scully did not want to use them. With her free hand, Holtzmann unclasped Scully’s bra, then pulled it loose in the front.  
  
Like she had suspected, Scully’s nipples were sensitive. Scully gasped as the cool metal surface contrasted sharply with the warmth of the soft skin. Quiet groans replaced the gasping as Holtzmann rolled the soft skin between her middle finger and thumb. After she teased the warmth of her hand to both sides, Holtzmann dragged her fingertips down Scully’s side until they caught on the band of lace on the simple underwear.  
  
Holtzmann worried for a moment about touching her, but Scully’s hips pressed forward as soon as Holtzmann's fingertips slipped under the waistband. Holtzmann’s hand moved away and rested on the cold metal. Scully squirmed restlessly. Holtzmann gave her soft kisses on the cheek and the side of her mouth until she stopped wriggling.

Scully cried out as cool fingers slid between her legs. Holtzmann groaned in appreciation for the slippery heat that instantly warmed her hand. She explored the contrast of soft skin and well-trimmed hair. She wondered if it was red. Her nostrils flared and her mouth watered for the scent that traveled upward, now joyously free of the cotton barrier.  
  
Scully’s hips shifted again, trying to catch Holtzmann’s fingers in the right place.  
  
Holtzmann withdrew her hand and put it back on the cool metal. Scully grumbled a wordless complaint.  
  
“Whose workshop is it?” Holtzmann said, touching her teeth to Scully’s shoulder.  
  
“Yours,” Scully said petulantly.  
  
“Not good enough to help you remember. I've heard repetition is the best,” Holtzmann said. She pulled down the lacy underwear until they bound Scully’s mid-thighs together awkwardly. "And I've heard it a few times too and remember it. Must be true."  
  
Scully’s noise of complaint quickly turned into a grateful moan. Holtzmann’s fingers held the spot that Scully had tried to direct her to. Their touch was gentle, but they moved in rapid circles, on and off the tender spot. Scully writhed underneath her. The agent’s back muscles tightened. She could tell the redhead was trying to stay in place.  
  
Holtzmann adjusted her precise application of pressure, giving more, but slowing down. “We’ll work together on this. I’ll ask you again. If you answer right, then I’ll let you scream it.”  
  
Scully groaned, lost in the space right before a climax.  
  
“Scully, whose workshop is it?”  
  
“Holtzmann’s,” Scully said in a rush of air.  
  
Holtzmann straightened her fingers and moved them side to side at a furious pace. She let Scully rock against the inner knuckles of her middle finger. Though she watched the agent carefully for tricks, it was not necessary.  Scully shuddered beneath her and cried out, “Holtzmann” in a loud, shaky voice.  
  
Holtzmann kissed the back of her neck, then whispered, “You owe me one.”  
  
“I-”  
  
“That’s too easy for you. Three, now, that would be a good ole challenge. Let’s see if you remember about the workshop.”  
  
“Holtz-” Scully stopped with a gasp as Holtzmann’s middle and ring finger sank into her. They curled to press at all the right spots. Holtzmann did not not tease this time. The pad of Holtzmann’s thumb and knuckle brushed on and off the slightly swollen spot.  
  
“I’ll let that one count. I can do that because it is- wait, whose workshop is it?”  
  
 Scully’s back arched. She inhaled deeply and called out, “Holtzmann.”  
  
Holtzmann pressed hot kisses to Scully’s neck and did not give Scully a break. The pace sped and the pressure increased until Scully panted against the hard metal table. Her breath fogged the shiny surface.  
  
“If I didn’t need to help you remember, I could give you this with my tongue. You smell amazing.”  
  
Scully whimpered against the metal.  
  
“You want that next?” Holtzmann gave small nipping kisses along Scully’s shoulder.  
  
Scully fought for the air to respond. “It’s your workshop, Holtzmann.”  
  
Holtzmann growled approvingly against Scully’s neck. “If you forget again, we’re done.”  
  
Scully whimpered an acknowledgment.  
  
Holtzmann grabbed the agent’s hips and turned her. They shared an intense kiss, one of them aggressive, the other breathy and wanting. Holtzmann made eye contact with Scully as she tasted one of her fingers. She groaned in appreciation, then lifted Scully and sat her on the edge of the workbench.  
  
Holtzmann guided the cotton underwear off shapely, toned legs. She knelt on the hard floor and wrapped her arms around Scully’s thighs. Well-groomed dark hair glinted red. There was a smirk on her face as Holtzmann traced the soft line, but Scully did not see. The agent’s eyes were closed and within a moment, she was moaning and shifting upward with her hips.  
  
Holtzmann teased and toyed with her. Firm, single licks mixed with soft rapid ones. Tracing the lines without entering her.  
  
Scully gasped and said her name like a plea.  
  
Holtzmann’s fingers claimed her lover again. Scully’s sharp moan turned into panting as Holtzmann added gentle suction to wickedly fast licks. Scully writhed and slid on the table. Holtzmann wrapped her left arm around Scully’s waist and held her in place. Scully grasped the edge of the table and cried out for her, tightening around her fingers.  
  
Holtzmann moved away slowly this time, giving gentle kisses as her fingers withdrew their claim. Scully gave a thoroughly pleased sigh and smoothed back mussed red hair. Holtzmann's knees complained as she stood up. She wanted to offer her arms to her lover, but something made her hesitate. Maybe it was the sight of the redhead on her workbench wearing only a smile, sweat, and heels.  
  
“Three then. Have anything to drink?” Scully said, her voice cracking a little. The tone seemed oddly cool and confident.  
  
“Tang,” Holtzmann grinned.


	4. Nerd Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday
> 
> Meanwhile in California, things get meta
> 
> aka: Why Abby and Patty are not freaking out about the alarms

A friendly, 6 foot tall woman in kitten heels should be easy to keep track of at a comic convention, but Abby kept losing her. Patty was a good sport, but she was not supposed to be taking pictures and giving autographs at random, especially not for free  
  
However, it was the crowd of shorter nerdy guys that surprised Abby. It was uncomfortable to see how much her friend enjoyed their attention. This time, Patty sat at a table at the food court. She was surrounded by men with glasses and the newest devices. They wore geeky t-shirts, but their expensive shoes betrayed the high dollar salaries their large brains merited. They sat and stood as close as they could without touching each other. They laughed at all the right moments in her stories. It was like she was holding court. Abby could almost picture three dragons sitting on her friend’s head and shoulders.  
  
Patty caught sight of her and called a loud greeting to her. She waved Abby forward. The group immediately parted for her, but Abby had been done with crowds since the afternoon of the first day. The cell network and internet were overwhelmed by the crush of people. There was no escape. Abby just motioned to her wrist, as if she had a watch. Patty gave her a shrug and made it clear that whatever Abby was talking about had been forgotten. A dozen of the nerds whipped out their devices and spoke all at once. Patty leaned toward the nearest one offering his screen. His pale face flushed bright red. They had a signing in fifteen minutes. She shot Abby a big grin and said she would be there.  
  
—  
  
Whoever said the FBI does not have a sense of humor had never been the butt of one of the agencies jokes.  
  
_FBI Assistant Director Brad D. Follmer_. That had been his title, but no longer. Not after all of the X-Files nonsense. Now, he babysat an agent fresh out of Quantico at a festival of nerds and misfits. Follmer was tasked to follow two supposed ‘investigators of the paranormal’ at a place full of the kind of idiots and dreamers that he had tried to protect. The young agent fit in well with the crowd that seemed to worship Tolan, so Follmer followed Yates.  
  
It should have been an easy assignment, aside from the rampant social awkwardness and occasional sensory attack of bad hygiene. However, Yates kept slipping away in the crowd. It was not that the scientist was especially sneaky. Instead, women of all ages kept rushing toward him to talk about wishes and men wanted to know what his pirate number was. A few people mimicked firing arrows at him or asked him about tights. Follmer swallowed his blood pressure pill with a swig from a $7.50 bottle of water. He grudgingly admitted that the young agent had been smart to dress for the convention in short and a black t-shirt instead of a suit. Follmer’s dress shirt stuck to his back, but at least he had a decent place for his service weapon to hide. He took another drink before the water heated to room temperature.  
  
A young man dressed in green with a strange hat bumped into him. Half of the bottle spilled onto Follmer’s face and chest.  
  
“If you say one thing about pirates or miracles or toilets -” Follmer said through a clenched jaw.  
  
“I was just gonna say sorry,” the young man said, his pale face turning ashen.  
  
“Link! Where’s my Link?” a young woman with a yellow-gold fake wig and a long purple dress called.  
  
The young man rushed to her.  
  
“Who were you talking- Is that Dread Pirate-” she said, her eyes wide.  
  
“Dread is right,” he said in a stage whisper and rushed away with her.  
  
Follmer’s face turned an angry bright red. A vein bulged from his neck.  
  
“Nerds, huh?” a slightly nasal, friendly voice said behind him.  
  
“Seems that way,” he confirmed and turned, realizing too late that Yates was the one speaking with him.  
  
“Look, buddy, if you’re gonna follow me, well, just come along,” she said, in an almost sympathetic tone.  
  
Follmer looked down his nose at the woman’s round face.  
  
“I guess you look like some nerd-hero - Cary Elwes - and so all the nerd-peasants noticed you following me. Now they’ve been telling me and showing me pictures. I get it. I’m weird, it’s your job. We have a signing in 10. Come on, I’ll get you a seat backstage.”  
  
Follmer furrowed his brow at her, trying to look dismissive.  
  
“Alright, Mr Skeptic, watch this.” Abby stepped out into the crowd. She hit a button on her supposed-ghost-wrangling device. It make a low CHOOOOM sound. The crowd immediately fled, giving her enough elbow room for three people. She walked back to him, clear of nerds. With another button pressed, the noise went away. The crowd quickly filled the space.  
  
“Those are touted as highly unstable particle beam generators,” the agent said.  
  
“The proton packs are not unstable!” Abby stamped her foot. “Anyway, this isn’t one of them.”  
  
Follmer tilted his head.  
  
“Wouldn’t be nice, would it, with all these foam axes around? Kinda showy.”  
  
“Fairness is a philosophical quandary.”  
  
“Sure. OK. Anyway, Holtzy made it. Just makes the noises and flashy lights. Pretty good, huh?” Dr. Yates smiled.  
  
“Not bad,” Follmer admitted, still reeling from being caught.  
  
“Abby,” she said, offering her hand for a shake.  
  
He stared at it for a moment, then gave it a firm, quick shake. “Brad.”  
  
—  
  
“Your jumpsuit’s ok, but your proton pack is SO inaccurate.”  
  
Brad and Abby turned to see a young blonde chewing stale bubblegum. It smacked with every bite. She and her companions all looked like they were somewhere close to their high school graduation, all in Ghostbusters jumpsuits. The blonde’s jumpsuit was ridiculously form-fitting and showed off ample cleavage in line with a 'Holtzmann' nametag. She had a tan, pink lipstick, and shiny heeled boots. Three young women stood behind her, one obviously agreeing with her, one complaining about how her feet hurt in the stupid rainboots. The last one, her hair bleached white, looked from Yates to the gum chewer with her eyes wide.  
  
“I’ve watched ALL the footage, even the secret dark channel stuff and you’ve got all of these meters in the wrong place,” the blonde continued.  
  
“Well, your doctorate looks pretty fake,” Abby sneered back at the girl. She could not help it. No matter how far from high school she was, it was glorious to tell the mean girl she was wrong.  
  
“It’s best to refrain from engaging,” Follmer said tersely.  
  
“Well, duh, I don’t need one. Jill is a mechanic,” the blonde rolled her eyes. All but the white-haired girl laughed with her.  
  
Abby stared at the girl like she had vomited ectoplasm.  
  
“Oooh, got you there,” she said with attitude. While they spoke, the blonde looked Follmer over an uncomfortable amount of times.  
  
Abby laughed so loud it felt like an attack, even in the crowded hallway. The white-haired cosplayer elbowed ‘Jill’ hard in the ribs.  
  
“Ow, Spangle! Well, you’re right, this loser doesn’t even have friends with her. Let’s go.”  
  
The white-haired girl slammed her palm onto her own forehead, revealing her ‘Yates’ nametag. The blonde and the others started to walk away. "Spengler," she muttered too low for the mean girl to hear. "It's Spengler."  
  
“I am really sorry about them,” the girl whispered to Abby.  
  
“I’m glad to be represented by the smart one. Are they always like that?” Abby said.  
  
The girl nodded and looked at the floor. “Dad said I couldn’t come by myself. It took forever to make the packs.”  
  
“Going to college soon?”  
  
The girl’s face brightened. “In August. Nuclear engineering. At Berkeley,” she finished in a whisper.  
  
“It’ll get better. WAY better,” Abby said, knowing how lonely she would have been without Erin.  
  
“It is you, right?” she grimaced. “I’ve only seen videos on YouTube.”  
  
“It’s me, Abby Yates,” she offered her hand.  
  
The girl took it, her palm clammy, “Dr. Yates. I’m Ellie Spengler.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Ellie. Want a picture?” Abby whispered.  
  
The girl jumped once in place. “Sir, would you take a picture of us?” She offered her phone to Follmer.  
  
Maybe it was how she addressed him, but the agent surprised himself by saying yes.  
  
Yates took one regular smiling picture with the girl, then whispered, “Does ‘Jill’ know that Holtz is full-on raging lady-boner gay?”  
  
Follmer captured the girl’s comical expression, then handed the phone back to her.  
  
“I wondered, but…it’s not really my business,” the girl whispered to Yates.  
  
“She’s not shy about it. But, good on you,” Yates grinned.  
  
The girl gave her an embarrassed smile. “Is that the new design for the packs?”  
  
“Yep, but it’s not a real one.”  
  
“Well, I didn’t think you’d walk around with a reactor on your back unless you needed it. You don’t need it, right?”  
  
“Only fake ghosts here. What about yours? Is that a zipper?”  
  
The girl blushed. “It’s built with a backpack inside, for the ‘Con.”  
  
“Awesome! I’m jealous. Mind if I tell Holtzmann?”  
  
The girl stuttered a response, “It’s just…it’s her design anyway. Yes, sure. Of course. May I? Take a picture of the pack, I mean?”  
  
“Sure thing, if you’ll do something for me.”  
  
“Oh! What?” the girl straightened.  
  
“Make some new friends at Uni, block these twits on Facebook.”  
  
The girl nodded shyly.  
  
Yates turned and let the girl snap a couple pictures.  
  
“Thank you again for the pictures, sir,” the girl said to Follmer, as seriously as one can in a costume.  
  
“You are welcome. Refrain from telling anyone, if you would.”  
  
“Um…sure. Ok.”  
  
Abby traded awkward waves and smiles with the girl as she walked away.  
  
“Where have you been?” the blonde stomped up.  
  
The girl stopped, knocking into several people with her cleverly disguised backpack.  
  
“Hey princess! Holtz doesn’t wear go-go boots. Big old fireman boots.” Abby yelled.  
  
The blonde rolled her eyes and held her chin too high as she walked away.  
  
“I tried to tell her,” Ellie called to Abby. Then the white-haired girl followed after the blonde, looking sheepish.  
  
“ _ **Jill**_ ,” Abby muttered as she walked toward the signing with Follmer. “ _ **Wow**_.”  
  
—  
  
As the crowd of nerds watched Patty walk away, the announcer said, “ _FLUXX Nightclub is proud to host Patty’s V-Neck Grind-Off at 10PM tonight_ ”  
  
Without stopping, Patty started dancing her way down the hallway, smooth movements of her hips and an impressive walking pop & lock. The geeks were all frozen except for the young FBI agent, who was still trying to fix Patty’s phone for her. An app she said she deleted had reappeared and was bothering her. The agent jumped up and ran after her.  
  
“Good luck!” one of the other admirers called.  
  
__  
  
“Oh, this is some sweet justice, comin’ up,” Abby said to Patty with a grin.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“The prototype Malibu Barbie Holtzmann.”  
  
Patty rolled her eyes, then she turned with a big smile on her face to greet the next person in line. “Hey girl, how you doin’?”  
  
Abby leaned back. “Brad, would you mind taking a couple pictures for me?”  
  
A black curtain fluttered as Follmer exited his blessed spot of solitude behind the table. “I am not your personal assistant.”  
  
“Oh I know that, but their reactions will be so precious!”  
  
Follmer spotted the reason. The white-haired girl was waiting with her associates, holding her lips in a tight line.  
  
“For this, but no other circumstance.”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
Follmer shook his head. A teenager’s phone was one thing, but Yates had simply handed him the heavily modified Ghostbusters phone. “Civilians,” he muttered.  
  
The Ghostbuster’s phone was unlocked, but it would not open the camera. A weird app that looked like it had been made on a Windows 95 PC had hijacked all functions. Follmer pressed an ‘x’, but it did not close the app. Instead, it flashed ‘LIVE RECORDING, APPROX 1.2 MIN DELAY’ message in red and started playing loud moans. Follmer pressed every button he could find, but the moans only got louder. People started to look around for the weird sound. Finally, he got the device to turn off. He sighed and hid behind the curtain. On his lap, the phone rebooted itself and immediately opened to the recording. ‘WARNING! POTENTIAL CLASS III’ Follmer resorted to sitting on the phone while he used his own to hack into Yates’ phone and disable the app. A moan cut off sharply, just in time for Ellie Spengler and her associates to have a turn at the signing table.  
  
“Nerd porn. It would be paranormal,” he muttered as he readied the camera.


	5. Great Dames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, mid-day
> 
> Lunch break

“Pastrami panini with pepperoni and peppers, but not perrocini. Provolone, not parmesan. Plenty of pickles.”  
  
“Whoa! Say that again?” The big man behind the counter gave a good-natured chuckle. With his sturdy arms, proud nose, and ample dark chest hair, he had to be the product of a long line of NYC Italians.  
  
Scully repeated the long string of alliteration dryly, “Pastrami panini with peppers, pepperoni, but not perrocini. Provolone, not parmesan. Plenty of pickles.”  
  
“Say-”  
  
“Sammy, knock it off,” said a small wiry woman, her hair more salt than pepper. “Lemme guess, weird hair, ‘bout your height, dresses like she got lost in big brother’s laundry basket?”  The woman’s wrinkles betrayed what would have been a hidden smirk 20 years ago.  
  
Scully nodded once.  
  
“Does that goof actually eat the things she orders?” Sammy asked.  
  
“Whaddya say that for? ‘Course she does. You’ve seen’em,” the woman slapped her frail arm as if to show off a bulging bicep.  
  
The man looked uncomfortable for a moment, then cleaned his hands and focused on Scully. “What’s for you?”  
  
A generic phone ring announced Mulder’s call. Scully did not normally do this when her phone rang somewhere public, but it was an odd day. She answered, then flashed her badge at the deli clerks as a means of explanation. The clerks’ faces changed from friendly to sour to wide-eyed in the span of one breath.  
  
Scully pointed to their menu, then held up four fingers. They gave her an ashen-faced nod. Scully walked outside the small storefront of Sam’s Deli. Her legs were more wobbly than she would prefer. "Mulder, you had something you wanted to tell me?"  
  
"Hey, yeah, you know our second favorite cancerous mass?"  
  
"What?" Scully as a taxi horn blared past.  
  
"The man who wants to burn the world, one cigarette at a time."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"He is here, taking Gilbert's class."  
  
_Great. This is just what we need_ , she thought. For a moment, it did not matter. Talking to him seemed real, like coming home. Holtzmann seemed dream-like. Scully tapped her foot at a steady pace, _Mulder is going to start talking about a new conspiracy in three...two...and -_  
  
"It all makes sense now, doesn't it? They said this wasn't our department when everything happened in NYC, but now maybe it is. They kept us away from it. Maybe the ghosts they've seen are otherworldly, but never of this world."  
  
Scully shook her head. It was comforting to know someone so-  
  
"You just shook your head, didn't you?"  
  
"Mulder," she said in a low voice.  
  
"So that's a yes. Anyway, why else would they send us? We’re pretty high pay grade for babysitting."  
  
Scully could think of a reason or two. Those reasons would delight Mulder outwardly, but she was not certain how he would take it every other way. _Well, I do know that,_ Scully thought with a smirk.  
  
The large deli clerk gestured to the menu of options to add to her sandwich. She pointed to one of the boards.  
  
"Everything, all in," Scully said, not bothering to cover up the phone.  
  
"What's all in, Scully?" Mulder said in a tone that brought a crystal clear image of his mischievous grin to her mind.  
  
"About a pound of fresh meat," Scully replied honestly, wishing she could see the odd little dancing squirm that happened when she threw back at him.  
  
"Must be more like a half a pound if you can still - I'm not sure Manhattan air is good for you."  
  
"It's not good for anyone"  
  
"So how's the...uh...the one you're investigating?"  
  
"Oh my God, Mulder. How many files did you read? Any summaries?"  
  
"Just the one file," Scully said with him.  
  
“To be honest,” he continued, obviously catching some small bit of food in his mouth, “from her file, she seems kinda like your anxious little sister. But I mean, really nervous. I haven’t met her yet and I have sympathy clammy-hands syndrome.”  
  
Scully waited for the sandwiches and switched to her headset. She pulled up the dates of Ghostbusters' inventions and compared them to how closely the team was thought to be working. There was a notable trend of productivity when they worked close, especially Holtzmann and Gilbert. With the cigarette-smoking man involved, there had to be something. Holtzmann had asked her about a device. He could be such an adorable asshole when he was right.  
  
"There was a planted device," Scully said, over Mulder's ramble.  
  
"What?! Are you messing with me again? Coming onto me?" he finished hopefully.  
  
"Mulder, no."  
  
"So, what was it? What'd it look like?"  
  
"I don't-" But she did know. It had not been far away from her face an hour ago. If that was on purpose, Holtzmann had even more secrets than expected. "A black device, shaped like a grain of Basmati rice"  
  
"Basmati?"  
  
"The long kind."  
  
"Oh, kinda like a gummy worm. A little one."  
  
"Sure, Mulder, a gummy worm," Scully said sarcastically.  
  
"What's it do?"  
  
"I don't know. It started an electrical fire"  
  
"Maybe it starts electrical fires," Mulder postulated.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"What does the uh-"  
  
"Holtzmann." Scully paused midstep. Saying the engineer’s name made her heartbeat very noticeable for a moment, right where Holtzmann’s fingers had made their claim.  
  
"What does the Holtzmann think it does?"  
  
Scully almost restated her ignorance, then bit her tongue. She did not know, but she was going to find out. "I'm working on it."  
  
"You do that. I'll go back to pacing. It’s a big important job and all. Enjoy your short pound of meat."  
  
“Oh my God, Mulder.”  
  
“That sounds more like you,” he chuckled. "Hey Scully, is she cute?"  
  
"Cute is no longer the word I would use. Doctor Gilbert?"  
  
"You know I like redheads. Did you say no long-"  
  
"And blonde, brunette, black, no hair, white, purple..." Scully droned.  
  
"Alright alright. I haven’t met her yet. Photos aren’t always good.”  
  
“Yeah, you need video, right?” Scully rolled her eyes.  
  
Mulder coughed, probably choking on a peanut that he had just popped into his mouth. “Hey, am I forgetting something? Did we set up some kind of panic code that involves you making locker room jokes?”  
  
Scully laughed and it felt good. It felt solid. It warmed her heart. The firehouse seemed to bring out all of her desire, like that was her entire person, like she was plucked out of her world and dropped into another one. Strangely, Mulder grounded her, but this was not the time to tell him. “I guess I’m missing you, Mulder.”  
  
“Those Ghostbusters are a bad influence on you then.”  
  
“Only one of them is here.”  
  
“Right, I knew that. You know they sent Follmer to the convention?”  
  
“You are messing with me now,” Scully said, her eyebrows high.  
  
“Him and some rookie, like beat cops.”  
  
“Poor sap.”  
  
“I’m surprised you have sympathy for-”  
  
“For the rookie.”  
  
Mulder was quiet for a moment. Scully heard the telltale shuffling noise the phone made when his large hand covered the speaker and the microphone at once. “I need to relocate soon, class is ending for lunch. I’m still not sure why I’m supposed to be incognito. Anyway, Gilbert will be a poor Scully-proxy.”  
  
Scully jolted as her heart rate rocketed. "No proxies," she said angrily to Holtzmann, two blocks away and one story up.  
  
"Uh...possessive of you, but I’m flattered. I don't really think I'm her type anyway."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Because I can dance."  
  
Scully snorted. "Any other reason?"  
  
"The closet’s light is on, but she’s got her eyes shut so tight she still thinks the back wall is the door."  
  
"Huh."  
  
"I've got a nose for these things, you know."  
  
_‘Nose,’ right._ Scully had chided Mulder about reading files, but Holtzmann's had been the only one she reviewed past the summary reports. "The agency has been wrong about that kind of thing before-"  
  
“It’s in the college part of her file,” he said with a sleazy tone. “Undergrad. Co-ed.”  
  
“Gross.”  
  
"God, I miss you. We'll see about Gilbert. No proxies, though, I promise."  
  
"See that you keep it," Scully said, more sharply than Mulder deserved.  
  
"Whoa, Scully. Is everything ok?"  
  
Scully walked into the deli and received her sandwiches quickly. They tried to tell her no charge, but she left plenty of cash for the food and a hefty tip. She hated wantonly using authority, unless it was truly wanton, she admitted to herself.  
  
"I'll let you know about the device," she said as she juggled her phone, purse, and the sandwiches. It felt strange to have her service weapon in her purse instead of a holster.  
  
"Scully, did I-"  
  
"Later, Mulder. I miss you too."  
  
"Bye Scully," he sounded hurt, but she had to end the call while she was still angry.  
  
"I owe you three, no proxies," Scully said to the Ghostbusters’ engineer.  
  
—  
  
Scully cut through Columbus Park to get back from Sam’s Deli. She tried to hold onto the fury as she stormed toward the firehouse, but walking through the sanctuary of trees in the concrete-and-glass world exposed how irrational it was.  
  
Gilbert’s file was on her phone. Before she returned, it had be reviewed in more depth. She walked past the firehouse and stopped at a coffee shop. After ordering her obligatory drink, Scully sat at a table outside with the sandwich bag nestled in her purse.  
  
There were a few high-level similarities between Dr. Gilbert and herself. They were close in age, education level, hair color, but not much else.  
  
_Why is Holtzmann is drooling over you?_ She asked the picture of the slender woman in the picture. Her suit looked stuffy and gag-worthy. Mulder was right. The former professor even looked nervous and awkward in the portrait.  
  
After the summary, there were two brand new pictures in the file that the Ghostbusters likely did not mean to share outside their group, captured by Patty Tolan. In both, Gilbert had a clipboard, a notebook, and a laptop stationed around a poorly resolved diagram. In the first image, she had one hand on the diagram and the other on her notebook. She was looking at the computer’s screen, obviously talking or explaining something. She had a serious excited look around her eyes and mouth. Holtzmann was relatively close by. The blonde was leaned against a shelf behind the workbench, resting her cheek on her fist. She looked…dazzled, a goofy grin on her face that was likely subconscious.  
  
In the next one, Gilbert faced the camera. She had a confused look, like someone had woken her from a dream. Holtzmann was a blur, turning to the side, an overly dramatic and obviously feigned ‘no, do not take my picture’ move.  
  
After that, there were action shots. These were captured by foolish civilians during the large scale event that made the Ghostbusters a household name. Gilbert’s nervous mask was gone. Here, there was only a determined scientist. Maybe she was not particularly skilled, but she was smart. What she lacked in muscle memory and capability, she made up with courage and knowledge. She made the best of it. All of that extra nervous energy was poured into problem solving and acting, including heroics.  
  
_Is it natural when you are certain there is no better way, Dr. Gilbert?_  
  
She had a story, like Mulder, but only her sanity was risked. She did not lose a sister, but people were not kind to either of them. It seemed that Mulder became unapologetic and Gilbert made up the difference, apologizing for both of them.  
  
_Ghost Girl, meet Spooky Mulder. Good luck with that road trip._  
  
After thinking Mulder’s name, Scully resigned herself to follow in his sleazy footsteps. There was more than one surprising detail from that part of Erin Gilbert’s life. All things Gilbert had left behind. Scully set down her phone and sipped her coffee. Holtzmann thought she was coaxing an oblivious woman to her arms, bringing her to the light, so to speak. In reality, she was throwing herself against a door with a rusted lock, two decades old. The darkness was chosen, the door latched and bolted with purpose.  
  
The anger fizzled. She had read Holtzmann’s file thoroughly. The engineer did not mean to use her this way. The younger woman was attracted to her and probably could not explain the intensity. Scully herself was not certain why Holtzmann stoked such a hot fire in her.  
  
Scully returned to the first image of Holtzmann watching Gilbert. The edge of the white board showed in the picture filled with blurred equations. The memory of it chilled Scully’s back. _Do you want to teach the teacher, Holtzmann?_  
  
The pain of pining for someone without certainty was too familiar for her to ignore. The engineer would fight for her territory. Combative could be fun, but they had plenty of time. More than one thing could be accomplished before she left. Where Gilbert knew physics, Scully knew physiology. She knew how to pick the locks to solve a mystery. Maybe it would be more fun to teach.  
  
Her stomach growled. She left a tip for the understanding barista who had kept her coffee warm without interrupting. Scully headed back to the firehouse, crafting a lesson plan as she walked.  
  
—  
  
“Nice hat,” Kevin said.  
  
Holtzmann slid slowly down the fire pole with one leg and one arm curled around it. She tipped her beat-up Derby hat that was old enough to be haunted itself.  
  
Kevin held his hands up, like he was going to catch a ball.  
  
Holtzmann took off the hat and launched it toward him, landing right in his palms. Kevin immediately put it on. The Derby hat was a little big for Holtzmann, but it was much too small for the tall man. It sat on top of his head and wobbled like Costello’s own Derby. “Who wore it better?” he asked with his chin high.  
  
“Oh, man, I’m slain,” Holtzmann tried to hold back her guffaw. Her fingers went to her phone pocket, then paused.  
  
“Take a picture!”  
  
She quickly snapped a few. “Kev, you’re the best,” Holtzmann grinned.  
  
“Well, I don’t think that other one agrees,” he said, suddenly downtrodden.  
  
“What? Was she mean?”  
  
“No…no…she just…said she’d come back. She just…didn’t even stop.”  
  
Holtzmann had to remind herself sometimes that Kevin not only her buddy, but an uncommonly attractive man. Unfortunately, she only needed reminders when some people were gone. He was so attractive he made _some_ scientists infuriating and completely mental. Holtzmann grimaced.  
  
“It’s alright…I mean, if she likes boobs too. I get it. I am a big fan,” he said, as if he was being generous.  
  
The remark shook Holtzmann from her internal grumbling. “Do I…make you…sad or whatever?”  
  
“No, 'course not. We’re bros,” he said firmly.  
  
“Damn straight,” Holtzmann grinned and offered her fist for a bump.  
  
Kevin took her up on it a little too hard. He shook his head, sending the small hat to the ground. Holtzmann hid the pain on her middle knuckle, flexing her fingers behind her back.  
  
The front door chimed, but it was a delivery person. Kevin was the only Ghostbuster who got the food he wanted, when he wanted it. Sometimes, like today, he had not even asked for it. Holtzmann never heard him say a credit card number over the phone or hand over cash. Abby and Erin thought it was another unsolved oddity from Rowan’s big tantrum.  
  
“See you soon, right, Terry?” Kevin gave a smile and clicked a finger gun at the plain-faced retirement-aged delivery woman. She blushed and giggled like she was in high school, revealing a hint of the youthful glow she once had. Holtzmann crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall by the front desk. There was no mystery.    
  
“Do you want this hat? I found it on the ground and thought of you. Catch.”  
  
Holtzmann almost crashed onto the floor to catch the thrown hat. She slid instead, putting the hat on before she stopped. Kevin cracked up.  
  
She stood and brushed herself off. “What’d you get, big guy?”  
  
Kevin shrugged with a pleasant smile on his face. “Lunch probably.”  
  
“Right,” Holtzmann said, glancing up at the large antique clock on the wall. Whatever undefined lunch was in Kevin’s bag reminded Holtzmann’s stomach of how empty it was. There was a low rumbling growl of complaint.  
  
“Oh…I think you should get a new delivery person,” Kevin said, unpacking the white paper bag.  
  
“…I don’t have one.”  
  
Kevin made an undifferentiated noise of acknowledgment through a large bite of food Holtzmann still had not identified. Currently, it included a lot of extra fiber in the form of parchment paper.  
  
“Why’d you say that though?”  
  
“Someone who looks like that one that was here- but not now, because she left-  that one almost came to the door, but then walked away. Maybe she forgot where she was going?”    
  
“Did she have a bag with her, like that one?”  
  
Kevin’s cheeks were overly full. He gestured with his hands, like he was either describing the size of the fish he caught or overstating some woman’s chest size.  
  
Holtzmann snorted, "Dames, man."  
  
"Like the dogs? Who have too much legs or not enough body? I didn’t see one."  
  
"Dames, not danes."  
  
“Ooh,” he said in a tone that made it clear he did not understand.  
  
To explain the difference to Kevin, Holtzmann quickly found a picture of a Great Dane on her phone. Then she pulled up a picture of an old Hollywood beauty. She sighed as her eyes followed the familiar soft curls of Lamarr’s dark hair, full lips, and perfect jawline. Hedy Lamarr, the woman who stopped making movies to focus on inventing during WWII. Holtzmann knew all of the actress-inventor’s movies by heart. Her younger self had watched them religiously, trying to piece together the gorgeous actress with the brilliant mind that developed a radio guidance system for torpedos. And Lamarr did it all in those ‘40s dresses and heels - and it was not just a one-off system to defeat the Axis, her work lead to Bluetooth and-  
  
“Holtzy. Bro.” Kevin said, looked at her with a puppy-like concern.  
  
Holtzmann cleared the image from her screen. She crossed her fist over her heart, then dashed back to the pole. The engineer immediately regretted her decision to climb back up, but now she was committed. She held her hat between her teeth to have something to bite that would not bleed. Every upward motion of her legs brought her hips a little too close to the cool metal. When Kevin was out of sight, Holtzmann paused and hugged the pole tightly with her thighs and whispered a groan. She rocked against it once, letting the harder and colder surface point out how hot and needy she was, how aware she was of every piece of cloth between her skin and the brass.  
  
Progress back to the second floor was dreadfully slow as images of Scully’s competition, softness, and surrender rushed into her mind. All of that, and she had only been touched for a second, if that. Scully’s fingers had not ventured far enough to catch her scent. Holtzmann almost forgot how hungry she was.  
  
Almost.  
  
Holtzmann leapt from the pole to the second floor. She smoothed out the bite mark on the old hat and put it back on her head. The familiar floor beneath her feet calmed her nerves and shaky hands.  
  
She crossed the distance to the workbench in long, confident strides. When she leaned over to grab a small wrench, it clattered to the ground instead of spinning up into her hand. Close to her nose, the benchtop shared the smell of oil and metal, mingled with Scully’s sweat and sex. Now, her mouth watered and her stomach growled as one. Her hips pressed against the table for an instant, reliving the first moment she bent Scully over it, then she walked around to retrieve the wrench from the floor. The scratched, shiny surface caught her eye as she rose from her crouch. Her nostrils flared.  
  
Holtzmann’s voice dropped to the lowest part of her range, “Feed me, Scully.”


	6. Honor System [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, afternoon
> 
> Sandwiches, then Scully's lesson plan begins
> 
> Be warned: Battlestar Galactica references

By the time the door chime announced Scully’s return, Holtzmann had forgotten about her mischievous sandwich order. She had forgotten about the smeared white board that should at least be erased before Erin returned. She had almost forgotten that Scully was coming back. She could not forget the planted device. It could not be ignored.  
  
After Holtzmann re-installed the old lead shielding on the chamber, she re-purposed the excess. Now, an ugly, quickly welded lead-lined box dominated the back portion of Holtzmann’s work space. It had heavy duty glove ports, with a camera and several strips of LED lights inside. She worked on the device, watching a monitor to her side for each hand movements.  
  
“Look, I’m a big time doctor, like on the Tee Vee,” Holtzmann punctuated it with a farting sound, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.  
  
The device still seemed to function after she sliced it open. There were a few unimpressive circuit boards and a bit of radiation that could be explained by proximity to the chamber.  
  
“Great Dames and Danes,” Holtzmann said, “You are the most generic-looking black rubber gummy worm spy thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“What is it with gummy worms?” Scully said.  
  
Holtzmann looked up too fast and her welding mask slammed down hard against her nose. The smell of the sandwiches found her nose under the shield. Her stomach rumbled its approval. “It’s got the ripply part, like the inside of cardboard.”  
  
“Corrugation?”  
  
“I am glad we understand each other, Agent Scully,” Holtzmann said with a fake prissy voice, like the Mayor’s Assistant.  
  
Scully opened the bag, “One pastrami panini with pepperoni and peppers, but not perrocini, with provolone, not parmesan, and plenty of pickles for you, an actual sandwich for me.”  
  
Holtzmann set aside her welding mask and grinned. “Good stuff. How many times did Sammy ask?”  
  
“He was halted on the second time.”  
  
Holtzmann sighed dramatically, as if all joy had drained from the world. It all returned as soon as she ripped the sandwich paper. Several pickles fell onto the table.  
  
“He also wonders if you actually eat the sandwiches.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Holtzmann said with a large bite in her mouth, half-heartedly covering up with one hand.  
  
Scully grimaced and held her sandwich in its paper.  
  
Holtzmann sipped her now-identified orange drink.  
  
Scully was still formulating what to do. It would help to know what Holtzmann would do if she had to wait longer. From the acrid smell in the air, Holtzmann obviously welded and constructed the entire viewing chamber for the device in the time Scully was away. What would the engineer do while Scully was present?  
  
In the time it took for Scully to have two bites, Holtzmann finished the entire eccentric sandwich. She wadded up the paper and tossed it into a trashcan on the other side of the containment chamber, then disappeared to the bathroom to wash her hands. Scully took the opportunity to look at the image of the device. It truly was generic-looking, like a stage prop. And, to Scully’s dismay, much more like a gummy worm than she remembered.  
  
The sound of tooth brushing reminded Scully check her purse to make sure her supplies were in place. After her sandwich, she would follow Holtzmann’s example. She snapped a picture of the device on the screen, then quickly sent it to Mulder right before Holtzmann reappeared.  
  
“Slow eater, huh? I’m not sure if that is a good sign or a bad sign,” Holtzmann said, reappearing from the back.  
  
“Hilarious,” Scully said sarcastically and continued eating her sandwich.  
  
“Why’re you so interested in that device, Scully? Know what it does?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
Holtzmann leaned on the bench. “You know who put it there?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Is this like that Why-game? The sky isn’t green. _Why?_ Because the sky is blue. _Why?_ Because of light dispersion- _Why?_ ”  
  
“It could be.”  
  
“Are you gonna interrogate me, Scully? I think we’ve got some bright lights.”  
  
“Should I?”  
  
“Wooo-hooo,” Holtzmann laughed.  
  
“No snappy response for that one?”  
  
“I’m trying - and it is _**real** hard_ , so I hope you appreciate it - I’m trying to be polite while you finish your lunch.” Holtzmann mocked taking a bite of Scully’s sandwich.  
  
“And then what, Holtzmann? It is my turn. Don’t I owe you three?”  
  
“I never said I’d lay down and let you take them.”  
  
Scully finally took a drink of the sickly sweet orange drink that Holtzmann had passed her. It had to be there for the name. It was surprising it was still manufactured. Scully steeled herself for the unknowable response to her next question. She asked in a conversational tone, “Is that what you do for Dr Gilbert?”  
  
After a beat, Holtzmann said, “Are we trading war stories now?”  
  
“I doubt there are any battles for you to report.”  
  
“Did you want to be done? ‘Cause we can be done.”  
  
Scully waved the concern away and took another small bite of her sandwich.  
  
“Why did you say that?” Holtzmann demanded. “About Erin.”  
  
“To see how far your pupils would dilate.”  
  
“Who’d you send the picture to, Scully?”  
  
“I do not recall sending a picture in your presence.”  
  
Holtzmann snorted. The engineer messed with a few tools, then ducked below the workbench. A few songs started and stopped before their third notes. Finally, she settled on a song that made Scully grip the sandwich a little too tight.  
  
Of all things, it had to be the Hamsterdance song. It was remixed to incorporate the original song the annoying loop was sampled from, "Whistle Stop" by Roger Miller. After a few bars, it sped back up to the frenzied Hamsterdance.  
  
_Mulder, this reeks of your intervention_ , Scully accused her partner in her mind. On cue, her phone rang.  
  
Holtzmann gave her a knowing look, then realized it was in her purse across the room. The blonde shrugged and turned back to her work.  
  
“Hey Mulder, how-”  
  
“Quick answers, lecture later.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
When Mulder did not respond with a quip about the possible side effects of following that command, Scully knew something was up.  
  
“Need an exec decision.”  
  
“You should call Skinner-”  
  
“I tried.”  
  
Scully’s heart rate increased. “Go.”  
  
“The tar stained guy, he’s asked to talk with Gilbert after class. Alone.”  
  
“What’s the question to me?” Scully said, trying to keep her side of the conversation dull. She knew Mulder would understand.  
  
“Should I Intervene? There is no hiding out in the room, it is completely open. Prevent her from going? So far, he has not sent anyone looking for me, almost like he does not know I’m here.”  
  
“It needs to stay that way. Maybe a place close by?”  
  
“Of course he knows I am already, but yeah. Hmm...the meeting room next door is empty. Stay with me while I check it out?”  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
“I’m going to set a beeper at the podium, then test the walls.”  
  
Scully heard the beep that was slightly quieter than most humans spoke, Mulder’s shoes against a tile floor, and door hinges. After the last door opened, there was a dull thunk, a loud crash, and then a different dull thunk.  
  
“Mulder,” she said sharply. Her voice echoed back. The speaker was no longer dampened by his hand. She strained to hear and caught sounds of scratching and scrambling.  
  
“Fine, fine, I’m fine,” he said.  
  
Scully let out a slow breath of relief. “Can you tell me some more about it?”  
  
“A mop and bucket in the corner fell on me, knocked the phone out of my hand.”  
  
Scully shook her head fondly. “Good thing the agency requires hand-to-hand training, huh?”  
  
Mulder laughed. “Except for the killer bucket, this is a great spot. These walls feel like concrete but they dampen sound like cardboard.”  
  
Scully could still hear the faint beep. “Cold war?”  
  
“McCarthy.”  
  
“What a jerk.”  
  
“No kidding. I’ll have to be quieter from now on.”  
  
“Only for this mission, no need to over promise.”  
  
The beeping ended as Mulder retrieved the small device. “You actually miss- wait, are you listening to the Hamsterdance?”  
  
“I am hearing it.”  
  
“Oh, that is not a happy Scully tone.”  
  
“I have a subtask for you when-”  
  
Scully’s jaw clenched tight as she heard Mulder giggle in one ear and Holtzmann snort in the other. ' _Subtask' is a perfectly valid word for a mission, but fine. I will play and I will win._ “…when this shift is over. And if you listen close and take good notes, I’ll tell you the rewards for following through.”  
  
Holtzmann whistled low. Mulder did not make a noise, but she knew that his stride was longer and his finger was hooked in his collar to pull it away from his neck.

“Send me a text when things are quiet on your end.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
A large drill whirred at Holtzmann’s work bench for a moment. She set it down and faced Scully with a wince, like she had already forgotten Scully was on the phone. It _seemed_ like a genuine acknowledgment of the interruption. Scully gave her an even look, still suspicious.  
  
“Hey, I got that black rubber picture you sent.”  
  
Scully held back a sigh. “What about it?”  
  
“Looks like electronic trash to me,” he said. “Tell me where it was later?”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
“Be careful. The Hamsterdance and heavy machinery may seem like a fun mix at first, but it gets dicey.”  
  
“Same to you.”  
  
“Get something to eat, will you? There’s a tremor in your voice and it is not the fun kind.”  
  
“Working on it.”  
  
“Did I interrupt-”  
  
“You wish.”  
  
“No! That would be desecration of the sacrament of the Y.”  
  
Scully put her face in her hands. _Playing along was not my best idea._  
  
“Something must be up if you let me off with perverted religious jokes. They are due back any minute. I’ll let you know as soon as I can talk. Take care, Scully.”  
  
“You too, Mulder.”  
  
The connection went dead, but Scully held the phone up to her ear a moment longer to collect her thoughts.  
  
“What’s a Mulder?”  
  
“My partner.”  
  
Holtzmann raised an eyebrow with a comical look of skepticism on her face.  
  
“FBI partner. Best friend. More sometimes. Most of the time now, but we will not buy a house together anytime soon. Or ever,” Scully surprised herself with the open acknowledgment.  
  
Holtzmann’s foot stomped onto a pedal, then ratcheted an unseen gear. The music changed to the karaoke version of a generic early 90s dance song, the volume much lower. Scully wanted to melt onto the table in gratitude for the irritating song’s departure.  
  
“Your best friend always?” Holtzmann said. One of her hands was holding the device at an odd angle in the glovebox, the other one drew a representation at a higher resolution than the screen seemed to show.  
  
“Yes,” Scully said firmly.  
  
“That’s a lot of work,” the engineer said, with an obvious appreciation of the effort.  
  
“Thank you for not saying lucky.”  
  
“It’s lucky too, but so is existence. The universe implies it, background luck like background radiation. I don't need to say it.”  
  
This was a dramatic shift in gears for the mischievous engineer. Mulder would not mind if she shared more.  
  
“It took a long time for us- for me- to admit we were something more than friends. He tried to tell me, but I could not hear him behind my badge, among other things.”  
  
“Him- ”  
  
“He would be _heartbroken_ if he found out that I had not done my due diligence.”  
  
Holtzmann did not laugh or snort like Scully expected. Her focus merely returned to her work.  
  
“You have a camera. Why the diagram?”  
  
Holtzmann’s shoulders shifted and Scully knew that her guidance of the conversation had been detected.  
  
“Cameras do not remember enough. If I do the recording, I keep the details, like depth, texture, placement, the way pieces sit, and the direction of the wire.”  
  
“On paper, no electronic back-up, possibility for human-” Scully moved closer and realized that Holtzmann was using a ballpoint pen, leaving no margin for error.  
  
“It’ll sit on this paper for however long it lasts. AND it’ll be in my head as long as my head lasts. I have them, all of them.”  
  
“You have a perfect memory for everything you have written?” That was definitely not in her file.  
  
Holtzmann kept working. Her tone was disturbingly pleasant, like someone's mother talking about running into an old neighbor who always complained when the grass was 0.2" too tall. “You mean do I remember every word I wrote to respond to the notes on the lined-paper-origami passed around in junior high? The ones decorated in gel pen hearts by girls who thought it was funny when I blushed? The one I wrote to Morgan that Mrs. Paddock read in front of the class? Oh man, how she laughed - guffawed is a better word - guffawed with them when she saw I signed it ‘Jack’.”  
  
A chill ran up Scully’s back.  
  
“It was an inside joke, from _Master and Commander_. My Captain Jack Aubrey and Morgan’s Doctor Stephen Maturin. We transcribed our days into ship’s logs because at least it was a puzzle. The code name for cafeteria food was ‘bilge water’ and Surge was ‘throg’ because we were afraid of writing ‘the good grog’. Jack and Maturin, silly little code names. Morgan's was boring, but they had a _blast_ with mine."

Holtzmann's fake cheerfulness made Scully's skin crawl.

"They had such a good time. Jackie…Hole-jack…Jack the Fibber…Jack-off…Jack-in-a-box…Jack- _with_ -a-box - that one was kind of funny - …Jill-Jack…Bucket-head, I guess because 'pail' is boring. I’m crazy, but remembering all of THAT would make me applesauce, graham crackers, and slippers crazy.”  
  
“Correct me if I am wrong here. If you gain detailed understanding of a device, you can remember them, but it is not a mental ability similar to Eidetic memory.”  
  
“Good answer, Miss Scully. Go on, take your notes and let me know when we can move to the next slide,” Holtzmann said in a deep monotone.  
  
—  
  
Holtzmann, in a surprisingly compliant manner, answered several more questions that would help Scully write a report that was not X-rated. The engineer seemed to want to power through it. Scully finished the sandwich and brought her purse with her to the bathroom. She wondered if she had pushed too far. After all, Gilbert was close, but kept Holtzmann waiting. There was a reason to it now, something she could understand and use to help. She scoffed at herself, _Scully, the Remarkable Self-Serving Good Samaritan, new on pay-per-view_.  
  
—  
  
Scully’s mouth tasted like a shock of mint. It was so intense that Holtzmann knew it was deliberate. She sat on the leather couch, on top of the sheet she threw down to crash the night before. Scully straddled her hips, the professional black skirt hiked high on athletic thighs.  
  
Scully broke away from the brief kiss and sucked her own first three fingers into her mouth. It was a fascinating sight, but Holtzmann was not going to let it go how the agent wanted. Holtzmann let Scully bring the threat of mint to her waistband, then grabbed Scully’s forearm.  
  
“Toothpaste is for teeth, Scully,” Holtzmann said, as if explaining to a small child.  
  
Scully retrieved her water bottle and took a large drink, making eye contact with Holtzmann as she swirled it in her mouth, then swallowed it.  
  
“That’s-  
  
Scully suddenly dropped the water bottle and grabbed Holtzmann’s forearms. She firmly placed them behind Holtzmann’s neck. “You have a choice to make, Holtzmann.”  
  
Holtzmann squirmed, testing the hold.  
  
“I can keep you like this. I would have to pay attention to your attempts to escape, have only one hand available, limited range for my mouth. Or you can keep your arms in place. If you do, you would have all my focus, both of my hands, and my mouth.”  
  
Holtzmann wanted to declare the third option, which was not to play, but the agent’s grip was well-crafted and well-placed. It was anchored by Scully's body weight used in concert with leverage. More than that, it had been a long while since someone had shown such interest in coaxing her to release. “What if I say #2, then move my arms?”  
  
“If you move them to interfere, we stop. If you move them to be obnoxious, we stop. If you move them because your back is arching too much and your muscles are trembling, I’ll find a new place for you to keep them.”  
  
“No mint,” Holtzmann said firmly.  
  
In response, Scully grabbed her water bottle with her free hand and took another drink. “Some really like it,” she shrugged.  
  
Holtzmann choked on a laugh. “Maybe they’re too scared of your special agent doctor ways to tell you no.”  
  
Scully set the water bottle aside. “There is one final condition about moving your arms. If I tell you to do something that would move them, you can pick to follow it or keep them in place. No negative consequences either way.”  
  
Now, that was interesting on its own, like a puzzle. “I’m in, for the honor system choice.”  
  
Scully leaned forward, a purr of approval against Holtzmann’s neck. “Wise choice, ingenue.”  
  
Holtzmann was in her 30s, but the title ‘ingenue, inexperienced’ gave her chills. It made her feel a little more vulnerable, a little more safe with an older lover. Ready to learn.  
  
Scully peeled off Holtzmann’s shirt. Holtzmann moved her arms enough to comply, then put them back in place. It was an excellent first test. Scully’s hands massaged Holtzmann’s biceps, appreciating the dense muscle often hidden away by feminine softness. Scully followed immediately with the sports bra, another successful test.  
  
Hiding behind the restrictive fabric were soft breasts nearly the same size as her own, the perfect amount to fill her hands. Scully had spent many long hours in sports bras and knew what she often wanted. Holtzmann’s choice of the honor system was rewarded without hesitation. Both of Scully’s hands were available to gently knead. She avoided the dark pink nipples, giving enough pressure to hit the developed muscle underneath.  
  
Holtzmann groaned and rested her head back on her arms. So often there was a rush to her nipples, which were not sensitive like Scully’s. The chest muscles she worked hard for were often ignored. She wondered what the price of this excellence would be. For now, though, it was on terms she could agree with in her workshop.  
  
Scully’s touch was thorough to the point of frustration. The experienced hands worked in spirals, from the end of nipples out. Then both hands together, one kneading, one gently lifting the softness out of the way. Holtzmann’s breasts started to ache from the unfamiliar attention. It was pleasant, but that would end soon. Her nipples were jealous of the attention.  
  
_The mint thing was a ploy._ Holtzmann realized as Scully’s cool breath played across one of her nipples. _Firm stance, really laid down the law on that one, so she can take everything else. Great work, Holtz._  
  
Holtzmann gasped as Scully leaned forward and covered a nipple with her mouth. Both of Scully’s hands stopped kneading and pressed enough to hold, like Holtzmann’s sports bra. Scully framed each nipple between a middle finger and a ring finger, leaving the dark pink exposed. Scully’s wet tongue and breath were hot against the sensitive skin. The licks were soft and sweet, much too gentle any other day. Now, they made sent dancing pulses between her legs. It outclassed every other touch to her-  
  
Holtzmann gripped her forearms in place as beautifully applied suction drew her nipple further into Scully’s mouth. Her eyelids fluttered. _That ploy thing? I’m not even mad. Friction, nerve endings, thermodynamics, you understand all of them. Have at it, Doctor Agent. I might learn something. Maybe I already have._  
  
“Take off your pants,” Scully said, her breath cooling the wet skin in front of her lips.  
  
Holtzmann’s arms twitched. It was time to test Scully’s word. She kept them in place. The curve was there only for a second, but Holtzmann caught a mischievous grin on Scully’s face.  
  
Scully’s hands left her chest, tickling and teasing above her belt with soft fingertips. Scully’s mouth claimed her other nipple, sucking and kneading with her tongue. Scully’s fingers traced under her waistband, teasing the same way she did at the whiteboard.  
  
Holtzmann’s hips betrayed her and rose to meet Scully’s touch. “Oh FRAK.”  
  
Scully let go of Holtzmann’s nipple with one last slow lick, then moved her mouth close to Holtzmann’s ear. “Which Starbuck is your favorite, Holtzmann?”  
  
“If you don’t know that frakkin’ answer, you’re a toaster,” Holtzmann said, her voice much more breathy than she anticipated.  
  
Scully laughed quietly. “You’re not going to ask my favorite?”  
  
“Which one?”  
  
“Too late now. Guess.”  
  
Holtzmann thought for a moment, feeling shaky under the weight of Scully's gaze. “Both, in their own time, but you like the pre-toaster-reveal Boomer better.”  
  
Scully nipped at her earlobe, “Impressive. Why?”  
  
“Starbuck is a total loose cannon. Fun to watch, not to be on a ship with, you cannot count on her. Boomer is an ace pilot. She takes things seriously, follows the rules, has honor, but she still risks her neck when it counts. And she’s sweet and super cute.”  
  
“Take off your pants and anything under them,” Scully’s voice was low against her ear.  
  
As soon as Holtzmann’s hands grabbed her waistband, Scully’s fingertips stroked down. The slender middle and ring finger framed her clitoris. Holtzmann’s breath halted. It was so sensitive now, aching to be touched. Every heartbeat that pulsed through it brought Holtzmann closer to begging for Scully to touch her. The pants were paused just above her knees.  
  
“Put your arms back.”  
  
Holtzmann reluctantly let go, embarrassed by how needy she felt. Scully kissed down her chest and toned stomach to her hip bone. Holtzmann whimpered when Scully’s hand left her. Without looking, Scully untied her shoes and pulled them off. She caught sight of Scully stealing a quick taste from the fingers that had touched her. A quip came to mind, but then playful licks tickled and teased her inner thighs as Scully stole the remaining cloth away.  
  
Scully leaned forward and gave one assertive lick that parted the soft lips, over the bundle of nerves, and traced all the way to her bellybutton. Holtzmann hissed. Her nails dug into her arms.  
  
The redhead rocked back on her heels and stood up. She set aside her jacket, then quickly disrobed, not bothering to give any coy looks. She straddled Holtzmann’s hips and stayed raised on her knees to look over the blonde’s head.  
  
“Any restrictions on what I do with my mouth if an opportunity like this presents itself, tempting and beautiful?” Holtzmann said, her breath hot on Scully’s chest.  
  
“Sometimes, you have to roll the hard six,” she said, a playful warning in her tone.  
  
Holtzmann groaned, “Another Battlestar Galactica quote? You are an assassin, for sure and certain, my CNS is going to fry.”  
  
“CNS, Central Nervous System, that’s a medical acronym. Are flirting with the MD?” Scully reached down and pressed her thumb against Holtzmann’s lower lip.  
  
Holtzmann whimpered, close to overwhelmed. As soon as Scully released her lip, Holtzmann’s tongue flicked rapidly on Scully’s nipple. Her eyes stayed locked on the other one. She enjoyed watching it react, tightening to ask so sweetly for her attention.  
  
Scully shuddered. Her fingertips traced down Holtzmann’s arm to the white-knuckled hand. She slid her own underneath it and found dark pink crescent marks from Holtzmann’s short nails. There were purple ones on the calloused palms. She caught Holtzmann’s chin and moved her chest away. “No more marks,” she said firmly.  
  
“Give me something else to hold onto,” Holtzmann said, with a desperate note that let Scully know the engineer had been trying.  
  
“Where can I find something? It’s your workshop, Holtzmann.”  
  
Holtzmann felt like she was melting away. She imagined herself turning into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West, but with a much snazzier hat. “There’s- uh…there’s an empty toolbelt hanging up.”  
  
“The dark brown one, on the wall behind the bench?”  
  
Holtzmann stared at her.  
  
“You gave me a focused view of it earlier,” Scully said in a low, appreciative voice.  
  
Holtzmann made a _**hngh**_ noise that sounded close to pain.  
  
“Stay right here, nugget.”  
  
Holtzmann was far from a rookie pilot, but this was an easy command to follow. Holtzmann was not entirely certain she remembered how to walk, but her eyes still knew how to follow the impressively sculpted ass of the 40-something agent.  
  
“Frak me,” Holtzmann said under her breath when Scully turned the corner. She heard the metal hooks on the back wall rattle into each other.  
  
The dark brown leather belt contrasted sharply against Scully’s pale skin. Holtzmann’s hands trembled as Scully’s toned legs straddled her hips again. Scully’s kiss was assertive, the kind Holtzmann would normally love to play with and challenge. Now, Holtzmann had to ball her hands into fists to keep from grabbing the slender waist. Scully nestled the belt on top of Holtzmann’s arms as her tongue traced Holtzmann’s soft lips. When the leather was firmly gripped in Holtzmann’s hands, Scully broke away.  
  
“If you ask again later, much more politely, I will consider it, but I had guessed it was not to your taste.”  
  
Holtzmann looked at her, thoroughly confused.  
  
Scully held Holtzmann’s breasts in her hands again, thumbing softly at the nipples until they pebbled for her. Then she kneaded again, moving her thumbs rapidly on the sensitive skin. “Holtzmann. ‘Frak me’ is not the best phrase for your current situation.”  
  
“I- If you mean ‘by your command’, I’m not a big old robot,” Holtzmann said, a hint of her normal exuberance and vehemence shining through.  
  
Scully smiled and sighed at once, relieved. “Then, Holtzmann, let’s make it rain.”  
  
“ _Gods_.”


	7. Live Wire [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, afternoon
> 
> Scully continues her lesson plan
> 
> aka: Why Mulder called in a helicopter

Scully drew a line of cool breath as she sank onto her knees in front of Holtzmann. Her hands trailed behind, lingering on Holtzmann’s nipples before thoroughly investigating the toned stomach.  
  
“Your profession does not require this admirable strength.”  
  
“Sure it does,” Holtzmann breathed.  
  
Scully’s hands traced down to Holtzmann’s inner hips. “It is more than physical maintenance.”  
  
“It helps- I thought you said the interview was over.”  
  
“My own curiosity.”  
  
Holtzmann set her jaw firmly and stared down at the redhead tickling her skin.  
  
Scully took hold of Holtzmann’s hips and pulled them to the edge of the couch seat. Holtzmann’s stony look faltered and she knew Scully could tell. Her nails dug into the belt, the scent of oil and leather reassured her, but only for a moment.  
  
Without another word, Scully’s hands pressed Holtzmann’s pale, powerful thighs apart. Scully watched as her hands dragged to Holtzmann’s inner thighs. Her thumbs nestled into the warm join and brushed the short, dark hairs upward.    
  
Holtzmann willed herself not to gasp and fidget with every touch. She cinched up her grip on the belt and pulled it between her fists.  
  
Scully gently parted the slick skin and leaned forward. She watched as her thumb moved in slow circles over the dark pink skin, testing for the optimal place for her tongue. From the tightness of Holtzmann’s stomach, it seemed any place would do for now.  
  
Scully eyes slowly moved upward and appreciated the view of taut muscles, soft breasts still pink from her hands, and the powerful shoulders and arms the required position revealed, even though she was now reclined to bring her hips forward.  Holtzmann’s eyes that were framed by a slightly sweaty forehead and blushed cheeks. She paused, enjoying how focused Holtzmann was, how patient the engineer was with her lover. _It will be worth it._  
  
Keeping their eyes locked, Scully leaned forward and pressed her lips to the wet skin. After a soft kiss, she opened her mouth, capturing most of the sensitive area with her lips. She moved softly at first, tracing each line.  
  
Then, finally, finally, finally, her tongue explored the tender skin of Holtzmann’s clitoris. It offered more resistance than every other spot, challenging her tongue’s movements. She focused with her lips and adjusted her posture to concentrate her attention.  
  
Goosebumps covered Holtzmann’s arms and legs, even her stomach. Watching the agent enjoy making her squirm was intense, but Scully would not win not yet. She let herself gasp as the gentle licks moved between her legs.  
  
Scully had planned to be infuriating. She had planned to be too gentle, to move away and explore when Holtzmann’s hips started to shift. But something in the unfailing eye contact of the younger woman made her change her mind.  
  
Holtzmann did not need her patience tested. Scully had misread the situation. Holtzmann was physically frustrated and they were nearing the point of something less pleasant. They were already past what Holtzmann would ask of her partners. They had played and challenged each other. The engineer could hold back. That was easy, that was practiced. She was strong, she held on tight. When she did let go, she would fall. Scully had her at the edge. Now, Holtzmann needed to be coaxed to lean over it.  
  
Without warning, Scully gently pressed the delicate skin between her lips, then assertively licked above the exposed part. Steady, moving the flat of her tongue in tight circles.  
  
All the air rushed out of Holtzmann. She broke eye contact as her eyelids closed. _Scully...Right there. Stay right there._ Her elbows raised high in the air and hugged against her head.  
  
_Right there, Holtzmann. Stay right there._ Scully slowly widened the circle until the bottom arc teased the exposed part. She made a low, appreciative noise against Holtzmann for the taste on her tongue, the sweat and want of several hours. When she did, Holtzmann shuddered, the muscular legs tightened as Holtzmann’s toes pointed for a moment.  
  
Another recalculation. She needed to know her lover was happy. That it was not only for her.  
  
Scully hooked her arms around Holtzmann’s upper legs. “Lay down,” Scully said, barely moving her mouth.  
  
Holtzmann kept her hands behind her head, tightening her stomach muscle to move off the spot. As her bare foot moved from the floor to to the couch cushion to push herself back, she lamented moving her hips away from Scully.  
  
As Holtzmann moved back, Scully moved just behind, continuing the tight circles with her tongue. As Holtzmann pushed back with her leg, Scully moved forward, crawling up onto the long couch with her.  
  
“Gah…Scully,” Holtzmann exclaimed, surprised at the determination of her lover.  
  
When Holtzmann settled on her back, Scully widened the circle further, thoroughly caressing the smooth spot. Holtzmann gave a wavering, quiet moan, like a plea.  
  
Scully made encouraging wordless noises. Holtzmann’s hips rocked toward her a little each time. She settled down onto her stomach, then let her hands travel upward, revisiting Holtzmann’s stomach. Holtzmann’s nipples were already hoping for more attention by the time she reached them.  
  
Red hair tickled Holtzmann’s thighs as Scully tilted her head. She upped the intensity, abandoning the circular movement to go faster and bolder. Her hands kneaded and toyed with Holtzmann’s firm chest.  
  
Holtzmann’s breath became ragged. Scully could feel the racing heartbeat on her tongue. It pulsed through the tender swollen skin, making it even more enjoyable to lavish with attention. Holtzmann stayed impressively still.  
  
The distinctive sound of leather stretching filled the air, followed by a soft moan. Scully had held that belt in her hands, she knew the thick construction, she could guess the strength it would take to warp it. Scully moaned, loud and muffled against Holtzmann. She brought Holtzmann’s clit into her mouth, sucking away the ache and tasting with sharp licks.  
  
Holtzmann’s back arched upward and her legs pressed against Scully’s sides, more like a hug than a hold.  
  
“Aaaaaah,” Holtzmann cried, her voice wavering. Holtzmann’s taut body trembled. She felt like she was holding a live wire. The current flowed without relenting, holding her captive in the muscle-draining position. It sparked over her skin, dancing from Scully’s fingertips. It jarred her with every inviting sound from Scully’s throat. It arced through her as Scully’s mouth pulled and indulged her.  
  
The electricity kept flowing but did not complete the circuit. There was no place for it to stop, no light for it to power. She started to shake as the unfamiliar arched posture tired her muscles. Scully’s assertive mouth started to cause ache instead of soothing it.  
  
Holtzmann’s arms complained as she straightened them from the taut position. Her shoulders crackled as she reached down. She held Scully’s cheek with one hand and brushed red hair back with the other. “Scully-”  
  
“Done with this or completely done?” Scully said, sitting back.  
  
Holtzmann blinked, the cool remark felt out of place. Her eyes started to wander greedily over Scully’s trim body. She sat up to be even with Scully’s eyes.  
  
Scully stood up and Holtzmann instantly leaned forward, not certain what to say.  
  
“I see,” Scully said. “Sit back.”  
  
Holtzmann pressed her back to the couch cushion. She drank in every moment of Scully walking toward her. Scully put one foot on the couch and leveraged up. Holtzmann’s hands gave immediate appreciation and support.  
  
“Do you want more of me?”  
  
“Yes,” Holtzmann groaned, as Scully’s hips shifted toward her.  
  
“Hold my hips.”  
  
Holtzmann’s small, strong hands smoothed up her legs.  
  
“Go. Go until I cannot stand.”  
  
All of the air rushed out of Holtzmann’s chest. As soon as she recovered, she pressed her face against Scully, her tongue assertive and thorough like a deep kiss.  
  
Scully moaned and put her hands over Holtzmann’s. It had been a few hours since the cool metal of the workbench. She had not quite realized that touching and tasting Holtzmann had renewed every want. It felt needy, almost cheap after Holtzmann’s long struggle, but every movement of the engineer's tongue felt perfect. Scully gasped and rocked forward against Holtzmann’s face, shuddering as the engineer coaxed release from her again and again.  
  
“You please me, but did not let me please you. I don’t like leaving things unfinished."  
  
Holtzmann groaned guiltily against her, the blue eyes shut tight. The engineer ramped up the intensity drastically, adapting technique based on preferences found earlier in the day. Scully gasped and ran a hand through Holtzmann’s hair. When she rested it there afterward, Holtzmann caught her forearm and moved it away. Scully immediately cried out again. The gentle grip on her arm proved she had not pushed too far.  
  
Holtzmann held Scully’s hips and leaned forward to taste further down, teasing about entering her. Scully’s legs tightened until her knees locked. Holtzmann wrapped one arm around Scully, holding the opposite hip firmly. Holtzmann’s fingertips touched the wet skin where the glorious tongue had been. Scully pressed forward hard against Holtzmann’s mouth.  
  
Scully caught a glimpse of a smile and a dimple just before two fingers pressed into her. “Oh my God,” she moaned, forgetting her plans.  
  
Holtzmann sucked and licked in concert with her hand. She whimpered as she felt Scully tighten around her fingers.  
  
“More,” Scully breathed.  
  
This was perfect. This was the magic. Holtzmann kept her lover steady with her strength and stole her lover’s balance with her mouth and hand. It did not matter that she had not finished. Scully had done everything more than right, it just did not happen sometimes. But the woman in her arms was needy and wanting. That was something she could fix with glee, over and over. Sometimes it was only a temporary fix. Those were the best. _It’s broken, Holtzmann. Fix it. Break me, Holtzmann, fix it again_. Holtzmann tilted her head to change the angle of her tongue as she added the third finger.  
  
Scully let out a long, trembling moan as Holtzmann took her again. She threaded her fingers through her own hair and held tight. “More more…oh my God…more.”  
  
Holtzmann added more pressure from her fingers and gave wildly fast licks.  
  
Scully rocked forward abruptly as the next wave of release hit her hard. The engineer just barely held her tight enough to keep her from bloodying Holtzmann’s nose with her pelvis.  
  
It was always a strange thing, when even new lovers could tell when to stop. Holtzmann gently withdrew her fingers and kissed away to Scully’s bellybutton. Scully’s legs were trembling. Holtzmann wanted her to rest on her knees and let Holtzmann hold her. Instead, Scully slid down and off the couch, almost like a liquid.  
  
“Phone call,” she said and touched her ear. Scully slipped on her heels, but nothing else.  
  
Holtzmann had not noticed the tiny black headset, smaller than a hearing aid, nestled in Scully’s ear. It was neat tech, since it did not cause deafening interference when Scully held her phone near it earlier. Holtzmann watched Scully walk away on shaky legs. She was concerned for the agent and more than a small bit proud. Scully shivered and the concern won over the pride. She dashed to the closet, elbowed the punching bag aside, and grabbed blindly from the hangers. Scully moved her arms to let Holtzmann slip the smooth fabric sleeves into place. The redhead mouthed ‘Thank you’ when Holtzmann cinched the robe’s belt around her waist.  
  
Scully stood in front of the whiteboard while the young agent rambled through deferential and excited comments about her work with Mulder. It happened so often with new X-files agents that it was no longer flattering or endearing. Most of the time it was tiring, but now it was infuriating. The whiteboard's equations, meaningless without definitions of the many variables, were more interesting. The vaguely ovoid smudged section in the middle coaxed a smile to her face, then immediately fueled her irritation.  
  
“Rookie, if you don’t get to the point within 30 seconds, I’m writing you up for unnecessary noise on the channel.”  
  
This was not the Agent Scully the young graduate expected to talk with. Holtzmann smirked and took the opportunity to stretch. She wandered over to the workbench, as if she had forgotten she was naked. Her hands were a bit too shaky for the work she wanted to do. Holtzmann grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. She snuck one into the deep, flimsy pocket of the robe, then quickly drained hers on the way to the bathroom.  
  
“What is the timestamp on the image?” Scully said, bringing her volume much lower.  
  
“Last Sunday, before Yates and Patty- uh- Tolan left for California.”  
  
“Time. Stamp.”  
  
This time he rattled off the actual numbers.  
  
“You consulted with your senior agent?”  
  
“Uh…well…I’m not really sure where…he is. Heh.”  
  
“Mulder is several hours travel from me, but I know where he is.”  
  
“Ma’am, Yates and Tolan separated, we had to split.”  
  
“See that HQ hears about this. All’s clear here, but thanks for the heads-up.”  
  
“Oh…uh…you’re welcome, Agent Scully.”  
  
“Remember: always have your partner’s back, but don’t leave the Agency in the dark. Understood?”  
  
“I know who he is,” the agent said quietly. “What happened.”  
  
_I’m sure you think you do, kid._ “Good. Take care.”  
  
“Oh, you too, Agent Scully.”  
  
There was a familiar click as the secure connection dropped. The bright flash was new. It was also on the wrong side of her face. Years of training and muscle memory kicked in. She turned toward the threat, ducking and reaching for her gun. Instead of the familiar metal, her fingers slipped on the condensation of the plastic bottle. The flash shone directly in her face this time.  
  
Kevin stood at the top of the stairs and waved cheerfully. “I forgot this part, anybody that goes upstairs needs a picture too.”  
  
“Kevin Beckman, delete those images. I will let you take another one later.”  
  
“But you’re already up the stairs…”  
  
“I could come down and go up again.”  
  
“Oh, alright,” Kevin immediately started pressing buttons. A sound that was the electronic version of wadding up paper played twice.  
  
“Thank you,” Scully’s heart rate began to calm.  
  
“For what?” he said, looking up from his phone. “Did you need something?”  
  
“No, you can go back downstairs.”  
  
“Cool, thanks,” he said distractedly and managed to walk into the door frame without noticing. He kept bumping into it and trying again, staring at his phone the whole time.  
  
“Take a step to the left, buddy,” Holtzmann called from the bathroom.  
  
Kevin followed the instruction without acknowledging it. The door swung closed behind him.  
  
There were all sorts of odd little noises in the workshop, so Scully did not think much of the small crackling noise near the ceiling. It was too quiet for Holtzmann to hear the repeater activate through the bathroom door. Under a pair of discarded pants, a light flashed once. It was an indicator that the repeater had transmitted another message to the all-Ghostbusters-list. It flashed again.  
  
—  
  
“Holtzmann, if you start with your shoulders and back tight, we will not have any where to go,” Scully said near Holtzmann’s ear. Scully’s free hand rubbed on Holtzmann’s shoulders, pointing out the tension to help her relax.  
  
“I- I appreciate your- determination, Doctor Agent, but your fingers will get tired eventually.”  
  
“I agree, ATP, and therefore energy, is limited. They will outlast you.”  
  
Holtzmann made a soft grunting noise of dissent.  
  
“Do you know why, Holtzmann?” Scully teased at her ear.  
  
Something almost came to Holtzmann’s mind, then Scully’s hand moved again. She trapped the oversensitive skin between her index and middle finger, lightly pressing with her knuckles as the lean muscle of her arms moved her hand up and down. Holtzmann gasped.  
  
“The neurotransmitter phenylethylamine will rise from its already elevated level. I will invite it to your brain through these delightful nerve endings with the action of my fingers, an invitation much too stimulating to ignore. At the highest level and greatest tension, it will flood your mind with a tidal wave of dopamine and, for a moment, you will belong to me and nothing and everything.”  
  
Holtzmann’s cheeks grew painfully hot. She consciously relaxed her shoulders and legs again, reminded by the woman perched on her lap. Scully’s fingers straightened and paused, pressing against Holtzmann. Scully moved away, out of reach, as Holtzmann’s hips tried to squirm closer.  
  
“I’m starting to think you don’t want me to relax,” Holtzmann’s suave tone was breathy and betrayed her, but she still fluttered her eyelashes comically at Scully.  
  
Scully’s fingers moved in response. One moment they were paused, the next they gave firm, rapid movement that made Holtzmann gasp and arch her back. Her hands flew to Scully’s hips. Scully touched her back, reminding her to relax. Holtzmann willed her back to press against the couch.  
  
“When you finally release, the excess testosterone that makes you grip my sides and buck your hips will be displaced by endorphins. Satisfaction and contentment, frustration forgotten. After that, it is a toss up between prolactin and oxytocin, productivity or euphoria.”  
  
Holtzmann gasped for air as Scully’s fingers continued the relentless movement.  
  
“Your frustration is nurtured, isn’t it? Was it a challenge that becamea habit?  Is it a burden you carry to make you stronger like the weights you lift? Is it a denial of self or do you sacrifice it, a little each day, on an altar of love too dangerous to pursue? You have more in common with Doctor Gilbert than you realize.”  
  
“Don’t.” Holtzmann said firmly, meeting Scully’s eyes with a challenge.  
  
“Serotonin will coax the cheerful mischief back to your face. What will take frustration’s place, Holtzmann? Do you know? You cannot lose yourself in pleasing me again. I am sated and too sensitive to touch. ”  
  
Holtzmann groaned, her muscles twitched and ached to be tense.  
  
“I will have answers before my fingers tire. You stole my energy, my reserves of ATP,and you crashed through my mind with dopamine and serotonin, but I am still fueled by adrenaline and testosterone. I am still energetic, determined, and greedy for you.”  
  
Scully braced her thumb above the action of her fingers, adding a solid surface for the sensitive skin to rub against. Her thumb rubbed the at the root while her fingers moved in tight circles, bringing pressure as quickly as she smoothed it away.  
  
Holtzmann breathed in staccato beats. She moved her hands away from Scully’s hips, worried about gripping too tightly.  
  
“The brain uses gateways to control neurotransmitters. It is like clearance and permission granted.  Is that it, Holtzmann, do you need my permission?”  
  
Holtzmann growled at her, smiling and showing too many of her teeth.  
  
“Not permission in the sense of guardian or ownership. Permission granted because it was earned. Have it, you earned it. _Oh my god, you earned it, Holtzmann._ You have clearance. Close your eyes, relax, let me prove it.”  
  
Scully sank to her knees on the floor again. Her tongue made Holtzmann’s body jerk. Scully rubbed Holtzmann’s sides, another reminder to relax.  
  
_You’re close, doctor. Close, but there is something you missed. I hate that it happens, but now that your tongue is working me like- and you want me to-_  
  
Holtzmann snapped herself back into focus. Scully’s demand that she stay relaxed had been sustainable when the agent was whispering infuriating things to her. Now, it took away enough of her resolve that, even though Scully’s hands were appreciating the muscle of her legs and the smooth tongue had her captured, she could not help it. Her mind wandered again, as soon as she consciously relaxed her body. Scully pulled at Holtzmann’s aching, sensitive clit with gentle suction again. Every breath Holtzmann had to fight to relax. She laid her head back and thought of each muscle group to smooth away the tension.  
  
Holtzmann’s mind wandered past the point of no return. She understood the function of the planted device. It caused a surge of anger for a blink, but then it was chased away by something new. Her mind connected equations she discussed with Abby and Erin months ago to her idea for the impossible radiation converter. There was a way to do it. She saw every piece of it like an exploded diagram. The flow of electricity, the mechanism to harness the energy from the instable radioactive atoms and safely contained them. It was not so different from containing ghosts. The converter would also drastically increase the capacity of the chamber. The components she needed, the shops she would have to call, the favors she would have to call in all arrived in her mind at once. It had been a long while since she made an original instead of a variation.  She usually made the first diagrams after the prototype, but some of the materials would take time to get. She had to create. Abby appreciated diagrams, but Erin…Erin loved them. Erin poured over them, wanting to understand how each piece worked to translate theory into practical application. The last time, Erin stayed late and crashed at the firehouse, curled into an adorable ball on the corner of the couch.  
  
This couch. This couch that would smell like sweat and sex if she did not clean it. This couch that she had dreamed of sharing with Erin on many lonely nights. _I have to stop- I said I was going to-But I miss- I can’t stand-_ _but Erin had flirted, really flirted and showed off her slender legs, right before she left. That houndstooth skirt and tall heels._ Maybe, maybe this time they could talk about the diagrams and Holtzmann would finally risk being direct. Maybe not.  
  
Her hands twitched and grasped the sheet. She needed to make. She needed to build. Another version of the new device arrived in higher definition that the first. Cleaner, smaller, the materials not as costly. It was a refinement based on equations they had crafted together after a small containment chamber mishap. Even if it was only that again, that was worth several hours of drawing a diagram for-  
  
Somewhere under the layer of her thoughts, a surge of electricity rode in a joyous wave from the intense flicks of Scully’s tongue, through her nerves, to her brain. Every muscle tensed, thrusting her hips up with the power of her legs. Scully moved with her, but Holtzmann did not realize it. She was lost. She forgot her name and the person between her legs and New York City and humanity and how to breathe. Her body ached from the hours of tension at the same time as it thrashed toward the intense pleasure for more more more. Her voice called out, louder than anything the old firehouse had heard in many years. It was raucous, primal, and plaintive. It made her chest hurt and tore through her dry throat.  
  
“ _ **ERIN!**_ "  
  
Holtzmann was lost, but did not come back when she should have. One moment she could see the tiny veins in her eyelids. The next, white filled her vision. It was not light, but it was sharp. Then black rushed in and took over. Her brain finally moved passed the shock and told her about the force that had impacted her right cheek.  
  
Holtzmann struggled to open her eyes. There was a shaky hand on her right cheek and she realized after a blink that it was hers. She had been slapped before, but it was _nothing_ like this.  
  
“Don’t move,” an authoritative female voice said.  
  
Holtzmann started to talk, but changed her mind for a reason she could not identify. Her vision cleared and found the owner of the voice. She was naked, angry, and holding something small made of metal.  
  
“Not a muscle.”  
  
Holtzmann inhaled to talk, but the first small movement caused a mind-numbing flash of pain.  
  
“Quiet. We can do this the easy way or - no, you are out of luck. It’s not my turn to be the good cop and Mulder’s not here.”  
  
Reality rushed back into Holtzmann’s mind. The woman was Scully, an FBI agent. She had a flashlight she was shining into Holtzmann’s eyes. They had shared a thoroughly interesting day, but something went wrong.  
  
_What always goes wrong, you free-range chicken-head, your big mouth. What is it that makes Erin a good idea-_

 _Erin. I said Erin. Slap deserved. Big time-o deserved. Cock-up- a-doodle-doo._  
  
“Don’t bite.” Scully held the flashlight in her teeth. She rested her thumbs on Holtzmann’s back teeth, then felt behind Holtzmann’s jaw with her fingers. There was a small pop, then she gently guided Holtzmann’s jaw shut. “Good, not dislocated. I meant the slap, not the potential injury.”  
  
Holtzmann sagged with relief. “Scully, I-”  
  
“Don’t talk,” Scully said, pulling on her skirt.  
  
“Sssorry,” she hissed as her jaw did not want to move in time to properly say the word.  
  
“I could tell. Stay quiet for an hour or so, it will be better,” Scully said distantly as she continued getting dressed.  
  
Holtzmann leaned forward to cover up and held her forehead in her hands.  
  
“I missed something I should not have missed. I was here to find out about you and how Ghostbusters’ technological advances seem to fall from the heavens. I wrote in my preliminary report that there was no outside influence. You focused to keep your mind on me, didn’t you?”  
  
Holtzmann’s eyebrows were drawn together when she acknowledged Scully. Her eyelids were heavy. Herhe blue eyes shifted quickly to Scully’s face and then away.  
  
Scully shuddered, not from the cold, but from the electric rage of hearing someone else’s name. “Holtzmann, anyone who is aware of your genius-level intelligence, creativity, and ability should realize that your mind never stops. Yet, they will not think it applies to days like this. Tell her when she comes around.”  
  
Holtzmann crossed her arms and sank closer to her knees, feeling exposed in more than one way. She deserved it. After all, she had mentioned Erin.  
  
“Ask her about basketball sometime, when it’s just the two of you,” Scully said quietly, like it was a secret.  
  
Holtzmann curled her fingers into her sweaty hair, ignoring the odd comment. “You were Amazing, Scully. Sorry.”  
  
Scully sighed. Her heels were painfully loud against the old floor. “Thank you, but- case closed, Holtzmann.”  
  
Holtzmann watched numbly as Scully walked down the stairs. She gathered the sheet around her, but now it smelled like guilt and embarrassment instead of excitement.  
  
—  
  
Holtzmann showered, scrubbed the couch with cleaner, made notes for the diagram, then showered again. The water grew steadily more cold. She let the water run over her until it could numb the slap on her jaw. _Erin, if you knew, would you...would you still talk physics to me?_


	8. Home Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday night
> 
> Scully hears a recording, Patty gets ready for the V-neck Grind-off, Abby talks theater class, Holtzmann engineers, Erin worries
> 
> Next stop: Holtzbert

Scully sat in a plush hotel robe and with a towel tied on her head. She stared at her computer. The VPN connection had timed out several minutes before. Her phone buzzed on the tabletop, shaking her from the stare.  
  
"Hey Scully," a warm, familiar voice said in her ear.    
  
"Hi Mulder.”  
  
“You sound tired...heh...”  
  
“Not now, Mulder.”  
  
“You ok?”  
  
“Tired.”  
  
“I’ve got mission update for you, maybe it'll cheer you up.”  
  
“I said I was tired.”  
  
Mulder sniffed, offended. “Oh, my mistake”, he said sarcastically.  
  
“How did Gilbert and Smokestack’s meeting go?”  
  
“So, the rookie who watched over class while I grabbed lunch failed to mention something.”  
  
“...what?”  
  
“Let me just play you the recording.”  
  
“Of what, Mulder?”  
  
“Their conversation.”  
  
“I don't want to hear that man's voice right now,” she said tiredly.  
  
“Scully…” he said, worried.  
  
“You know what, play it. I want Mulder commentary though.”  
  
“Happy to oblige.” Mulder’s smile was clear in his voice.

> A gravelly, yet charming older man's voice, "You asked to see me, Dr. Gilbert?"

Mulder hit pause. He knew what was coming.  
  
“SHE asked HIM?!”  
  
“Guess why. Guess guess guess come on come on come on,” Mulder bounced excitedly.  
  
“Smoking, wasn't it?”  
  
“Ding ding ding, we have a winner, first try!” Mulder chuckled  
  
“OH MY GOD! Does she still exist?”  
  
“Yes, actually. He...was nice...seemed amused. It was terrifying to hear.”  
  
“I bet's it been a while”, Scully laughed.  
  
“Everyone here either knows him or see how much space other people give him and stay clear. “  
  
“What did he say?”

> The old man’s voice returned, gentle and sincere. "Doctor Gilbert, the science is clear on first and secondhand smoke. But you must understand, when I started my career, halls like this were filled with toasted tobacco. Integral, part of every meeting and mission, it was something everyone shared. The rookie agent gives a light to the five star general, the director bums a cigarette off of the general. I know it is distracting for your young generation, but for me, everything feels like white plastic without it. Too shiny and light, too flexible to be truth. Molded for one purpose, too brittle to have substance. By way of your knowledge and talent for teaching, your class is one of great substance. I cannot see this short time as your student made weak and yielding in my memory. As it would be, Dr. Gilbert, if I set aside this tradition that only I survive to bear."

  
“That _is_ disturbing,” Scully said, in awe.  
  
“She totally caved, gave a few little awkward comments about his health.”  
  
Scully snorted.  
  
“Yeah. he's been a smokestack since steam engines first hit the rails.”  
  
“What did he say?”  
  
“He thanked her. He said it is rare that anyone comments, let alone shares concerns. ”  
  
“He does sound genuinely nice.”  
  
“Puts a new shine on those malevolent shoes, huh?”  
  
Silence for a moment. “This is real. She asked him to see her after class, to ask him not to smoke in class.” Scully repeated. “That's it?”  
  
“That's it,” Mulder said with a grin. “Thanks for the closet idea. The mop has been dispatched.”  
  
Scully chuckled, a real smile on her face. “Speaking of closets, ready to take notes?”  
  
“Oh, the _sub_ -tasks?”  
  
“Yes, Mulder, the sub-tasks.” She shook her head.  
  
“Scully? Do you want to talk about what’s dragging your voice down? Are you safe?”  
  
“Safe. Maybe on Friday, Ok?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am. Ready to take notes.”  
  
—  
  
**Wednesday night, California**  
  
“Mr Mopey is a decent photographer,” Abby said, grinning at a picture on her phone.  
  
Patty chucked. She leaned against the bathroom counter, finishing up her makeup.  
  
“What are you laughing at?” Abby said, thoroughly confused.  
  
“Pretty good with his hands, huh?”  
  
Abby rolled her eyes. She got off the bed and held the phone out to Patty, “Look at this, isn’t it beautiful?”  
  
Ellie was standing with her lips pressed together, trying and failing to hide a grin. The three other girls had their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide and focused on Abby’s face, a flattering profile showed in the picture.  
  
“Hang on, can I see that?”  
  
Abby handed Patty the phone. The tall woman zoomed in on part of the picture, but Abby could not see what.  
  
“You find Malibu Holtzmann’s price tag or something?”  
  
“…it…I thought she was just a fan.”  
  
“What? Who?”  
  
“Ellie. Look at her.”  
  
“I’m not seeing anything…what do mean ‘just a fan’?”  
  
“Her hair, girl. Look.”  
  
“Yeah, she bleached it. That is super fan territory.”  
  
“Noooo…look at her eyes.”  
  
Abby took the phone back and looked at the picture. Ellie’s eyebrows and eyelashes had seemed dark, but they were painted. There were smudges under her eyes. “Poor kid. Nerdy, and that.”  
  
“Great costume for her, wasn’t it? She looks so happy. Such a cutie,” Patty said, and set her makeup with powder.  
  
“Yeah, she does,” Abby said, walking out of the bathroom into their shared room. “Want to see the others?”  
  
Patty cackled with delight as she looked the pictures Follmer took, the bratty girls humbled and apologizing. All of the shots were so clean, they looked like they were made by a professional. “He is good,” she acknowledged.  
  
“Too tall for you, Patty?” Abby chuckled.  
  
“He can come dance if he wants,” Patty said with a wide grin.  
  
Abby snorted and opened her suitcase. She pulled out her pajamas and a book.  
  
“You sure you don’t want to come? Lots of braniacs with MOVES,” Patty rolled her hips once.  
  
“No thanks, I don’t think I’m their type anyway,” she gestured to her height, then Patty’s.  
  
“Yeah, you need a quiet night. I probably won’t be back…”  
  
“You better not bring the oompa loompas back here!”  
  
“Oompa loompas, that is disgusting. I am disgusted.” Patty shuddered.  
  
“Sorry…I do need some quiet.”  
  
Patty waved the concern away and went back to the pictures on Abby’s phone.  
  
Abby laid out clothes for the next day and stretched. She looked forward to a leisurely bath and curling up in bed with her book. Something small and heavy whooshed past her onto the bed.  
  
“Damn it, Holtz!” Patty exclaimed and stalked to the bathroom.  
  
“Holtz is here?” Abby said, thoroughly confused.  
  
Patty shook her hands like something disgusting had splashed on them. “You know how the picture messages just join up in the album?”  
  
Abby crinkled her nose and picked up her phone like it might explode. “Kevin sent this, not Holtzmann.”  
  
Patty snorted, “You think KEVIN makes a woman like that, look like that?”  
  
Abby’s face turned red with anger. “Holtzmann,” she said like a curse.  
  
Abby turned the phone around and gestured to the list of addresses, specifically to Erin’s phone.  
  
“Well, if that doesn't get that girl a clue. Nothing will,” Patty shrugged.  
  
“Are you calling my friend stupid?” Abby snapped, up on her toes to get closer to Patty’s face.  
  
“You’re not mad at me. Quit. She’s pretty far up her own ass sometimes.”  
  
Abby sank down, “Not on this,” she said quietly.  
  
“Are you kidding me? Holtzmann melts anytime Erin stands close. Erin doesn’t notice a thing.”  
  
“Erin acts that way.”  
  
“Whoa…are you…were you and her…”  
  
Abby let out her signature,  “Nnno!” She dropped the phone onto the bed.  
  
“Yeah, ‘cause it seems to me she got her PhD in stuck-up heterosexual.”  
  
“Not without a lot of theater classes,” Abby muttered.  
  
Now it was Patty’s turn to get in Abby’s face, “Then why does she let Holtzmann run after her?”  
  
“Same reason she dates assholes, I guess, she thinks she should.”  
  
“Oh,” Patty deflated, gathering way more information from Abby’s sentence than Abby expected.  
  
“You’re judgmental of Erin, but you squick out whenever Holtz-”  
  
“Yeah, that girl does weird shit like lick my face and I don’t want to know where that tongue was last.”  
  
“She doesn’t…she just says stuff like that.”  
  
“Then who is that?” Patty gestured to the phone.  
  
“And what’s she doing prancing like that in the FIREHOUSE?” Abby growled.  

—

 **Wednesday night, The firehouse**  
  
“KEVINNNN!” Holtzmann yelled like the mom in Home Alone. The firehouse was empty. Holtzmann paced and stared at her phone. Her fists clenched until the first hints of creaking metal. The phone clattered to the ground instead of shattering in her hand.  
  
She stalked over to the wall of proton packs and cross her arms over her chest. “Erin is going to kill me…BANG…maybe tar and feathers first like Marv. No, Abby or Patty might. What Erin will do, that’ll be worse.”  
  
In a high, obnoxious voice, she said, “No offense, aren’t you too old to be afraid?”  
  
In answer, her voice pitched low, a little raspy, “You can be too old for a lot of things, but you're never too old to be afraid.”  
  
Holtzmann snorted, remembering elementary school hijinks with her souped-up voice changer. She had recorded-  
  
Her eyes opened wide and she dashed across the floor to grab onto the pole. She woke up the computer attached to the EVP recorder. Three new recordings. The timestamps matched what she feared. She walked slowly to the stairs.  
  
“BANG!”  
  
This was a problem she could not begin to fix until she saw Erin’s reaction. Instead, she got to work on on the diagram. Last week, if someone had said ‘radiation converter’ and explained the function, it would have sounded like nonsense. Holtzmann used a ballpoint pen with a light-up rubber ducky on top to draw the components. She made notes on relevant theory in the margins. One large scale diagram, several zoomed in high detail supplements, and-  
  
“Basketball?!”  
  
Holtzmann moved the rubber duck’s tiny bill. “Scully, you quack me up…hahaha, get it? For a troll, you are, wait, I think that makes you a trollop.”  
  
Not as pleased with herself as she sounded, Holtzmann returned to the diagrams. Without thinking, she picked up her phone to check messages. Patty’s V-neck grind-off thing was working out, so that was nice. Abby was grumpy about some grumpy guy.  
  
“Malibu Barbie? Yeah,…I’m gonna need some evidence,” Holtzmann chuckled, a real one this time.  
  
The last ones from Erin were several days ago, but that was expected. It was about double-checking the fire extinguishers. After sending the message, Holtzmann knew that Erin checked them several triple, quadruple, and quintuple checked them.  
  
Holtzmann pulled a sheet of fresh paper from a roll to make a detailed diagram of the inner mechanism. Out of months long habit, she glanced up at Erin’s desk.  
  
No notebooks on the desk. An empty chair. The smudged whiteboard.  
  
The whiteboard was impossible. It was not hers to clean. It still had Erin’s writing on most of it. The picture she had taken was blurry and fuzzy. If Erin checked her messages and the recordings, she would know what happened. A clean whiteboard would not hide anything. It felt like hiding. If Erin did not check…  
  
“Easy test for FBI doppelganger: If the person who comes back did not check, she’s definitely an alien in an Erin Gilbert skin suit.”  
  
Holtzmann kicked on some music and returned to her diagram. A familiar beat filled the firehouse. She bobbed her head like the Roxbury brothers.  
  
♫ I _don’t know why you’re not there._ ♫  
  
“Sure you do,” Holtzmann replied to the lyrics. “The big suits called her up.”  
  
♫ _What is love? Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more._ ♫  
  
“Probably shouldn’t blame an infant…OH you mean like a GIRLfriend, silly me.”  
  
♫ _I don’t know, what can I do? What can I say, it’s up to you. I know we’re right, just me and you. I can’t-_ ♫  
  
Holtzmann focused on the diagram. It was the thing she could do.  
   
♫ _I want no other, no other lover..._ ♫  
  
She leaned over the sheet of paper, crafting the impossible device with free hand ink. She focused until she could not hear the lyrics anymore.  
  
Sometime near midnight, her stomach began to complain about the lack of food. The reserves in the ancient fridge were depleted. There was too much work to do, too many things to get onto paper for her to sleep. She picked up her phone to call for pizza. There was another picture of Scully, this one drawing a water-bottle-gun. Her phone clattered onto the bench. “Kevinnnnn, why?” she groaned. Instead of dealing with the phone again, Holtzmann opened her laptop to make the order. The homebrew alarm system program flashed a warning that there were three recordings paired with odd environmental readings.  
  
Holtzmann slapped her hands on either side of her face like Kevin from Home Alone. Instead of Macaulay Culkin's signature ‘AHHH!’, Holtzmann choked, then screamed for pain instead of the ache in her chest.  
   
—

**Friday afternoon, flying toward NYC**

  
“Holtzmann, are you okay?” Erin said to her phone, desperate for the answer. It was Friday afternoon and Holtzmann had not sent anything since Wednesday.  
  
Holtzmann could not hear. The helicopter was still far away from the firehouse. Her phone had no signal. Everyone near her was wearing heavy duty ear protection. It was freeing, in a way, to speak without consequences. Erin leaned forward and held her stomach. It was not the first time an agent had looked at her sharply and handed her a barf bag. This time, she accepted, hoping they would stop their owl-like head movements. She had finally gotten through all the messages and, for completion’s sake, went through Kevin’s messages. There were 39 odd search engine queries.  
  
_Of course there were 39. Do not do that, Erin. Pattern recognition kept our ancestors alive, but correlation did not build this helicopter._  
  
Now, Erin stared at the first of two messages that Kevin sent to whole group. There were no words accompanying the image of a stranger in black heels and a familiar red robe.  
  
“Kevin, are you okay?”  
  
The redheaded woman was ducked in a blurry action pose, reaching toward her hip.  
  
“Why won’t you answer the phone, Holtz? A text?” Erin’s hands shook. _If something happened to you while Abbs, Patty, and I are gone, who would know? Anyone? The shop below your apartment? They are probably used to you not coming back every night. Kevin…lots of people look out for you, but who would check on you? Holtzmann. The rest of us._  
  
Erin was trapped in a helicopter. The cell phone signal wavered in and out, barely enough to send a text. She was shaking, surrounded by people who might help but may have been part of hurt. There were unknown hours left to go. They did not feel she ‘needed to know’ the timing. Her snide comment about eating lunch or needing to pee had received cold glares, she guessed it was the FBI equivalent of eyerolls. Erin lugged her bag into her lap, rummaged through it without grabbing anything, then held it tight in her left arm. It was solid, something familiar. The fabric had an light smell to it. A touch of acid and CO2 [fire extinguisher], the gentlest whiff of methane [blow torch fuel], the almost savory smell of hydrocarbons [brake cleaner].  
  
“El cálido abrazo de Holtzmann.”  
  
“WHAT?” Mulder said.  
  
“It’s Spanish for perfume of Holtzmann’s workshop.”  
  
Mulder shook his head.  
  
“It’s ok. I can’t hear well either.”  
  
Mulder shook his head more assertively.    
  
Erin waved him away and hugged the bag close with both arms. The saline from her eyes did not change the smell.  
  
The powerless feeling was familiar. Hours of waiting with the unknown. Too many variables for algorithms. When logic was not available, all she could do was dread the worst. The last time, the next day taught her that her imagination did not know what ‘worst’ was.  
  
_If something happened to you, Holtzmann, who would call me?_  
  
Erin opened the next image. Between Erin’s hands trembling hands and the bouncy ride in the helicopter, she dropped the phone. It slid forward, alongside the tall agent’s leather shoe, the mud from the field already dried to dust. His quick reflexes startled Erin.  He grabbed it long before it passed the toe of his shoes. He turned around and started say something. He moved his mouth dramatically for ease of lip-reading.  
  
“Hang on to…huh,” the man’s confident demeanor disappeared as the screen caught his eye. “WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?” he said, loud enough to hear, drawing the attention of several other agents. He returned the phone to her upside down.  
  
Erin’s heart raced. She wanted to be tough and demand answers of her own, but these were government agents. She turned the phone over and saw the second image. The redheaded woman in this phone was clear. She was lovely, dark lips and flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her hair was messy, but she was confident, her shoulders back and relaxed. She was looking at the board, talking about something.  
  
“GILBERT,” Mulder yelled, breaking her from the shock.  
  
Erin closed the image and pulled up Kevin’s contact info. She handed her phone back to the agent, but it was slow, like her arm was too weak to move it.  
  
Mulder shook his head, probably at the image she had for Kevin. Then, he started pressing buttons. Erin wanted to yell and snatch back her phone, but she could only sit and wait. It was obvious when he saw the first picture of the agent, the blurry action shot. After a few taps on his phone, then more on hers, he handed the heavy device back to her.  
  
The gratuitous image of shirtless Kevin renewed her nausea.  
  
_What is wrong with me? Why do I do that? He’s a special needs kid. Why does he make me so stupid?_  
  
She quickly changed it to one of him sitting at the front desk at the firehouse, smiling cheerfully.  
  
_He makes me stupid in front of Holtzmann._  
  
She changed it again, to a picture of him rubbing his eyes through the frames of his glasses.  
  
_I’m stupid in front of Holtzmann._  
  
**_STOP._**  
  
Holtzmann had made a variety of mods to the phones, more than one of them mischievous. She coded in a way for her to change her own contact picture. Usually, it was wacky facial expressions or random objects. The current one made Erin grab the barf bag with full intent to use it. The image was an artsy shot of Holtzmann’s workbench. The firehouse was dark. Moonlight and street lamps lit the stainless steel surface. The space behind it was empty.  
  
“Be okay, Holtzmann. Be okay and I’ll tell you why. I promise,” Erin said. “It’s not what you think. It’s worse. Maybe you won’t want to talk to me ever again, but I’ll tell you why. Be okay.”  
  
Erin clutched her stomach and finally gave into the nausea. Several agents shifted away from her.  
  
“And Kevin too,” she said guiltily. “But he is not who they would hurt. Well, they might to get to you…BE OKAY.”  
  
Erin would keep her word, but she needed to do something immediately. She wrote a quick text to Holtzmann that said, “If I don’t tell you by next Friday, ask me about 13x3.”  
  
Sending message… … …Message failed to send… … …Retry on reconnect?    Yes   No  
  
**Yes** , Erin sent before she could chicken out.  
  
The nearest agent handed her another disposable bag, which she used immediately. She could almost feel them laughing about her comments about lunch.  She laid her head on the bag, avoiding Mulder’s looks for more information. Light-headed from anxiety and nausea, Erin dozed, using her backpack as a pillow. Every time she neared consciousness, she searched for mind for a way to tell Holtzmann.  
  
_Why did you scream my name? For what? Because I’m the one who would actually listen to the recordings?_  
  
And then, Erin knew just how to do it.


	9. Dance Break (A-side)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday night
> 
> It's time for the dance montage!
> 
> [Author's Note: This is a long chapter. Flip the tape to Chapter 10 for the second half.]

**Thursday night, firehouse**

Holtzmann’s stomach made a petulant rumbling noise. She tore herself away and stretched. There were seven large diagrams and and accompanying documents. Her hands were stained a bluish-gray from the ink. When all the diagrams were done, she would scrub it off. In the meantime she admired them, thinking of Jo from _Little Women_ , and headed for a bathroom break.

Holtzmann’s head swam with tiny ball-shaped fish. She sat down quickly. This was far from the first time her focus had stolen time, but it had not happened in several months. When they were at the institute, Abby would occasionally crinkle wrappers nearby until Holtzmann realized she was hungry too. After the first time at the firehouse, a small stock of food appeared in the fridge and cabinet. At a mealtime, Erin would get up and grab two, then drop one of them on Holtzmann’s bench. Most of the time, Holtzmann only noticed when she saw the empty wrapper later. Those shelves were empty now. She powered through them in the first few days of the quiet firehouse. Maybe it was her turn to restock.

Kevin came bounding up the stairs. Holtzmann grimaced, not ready to navigate the choppy waters of conversation with one Kevin Beckman. But then, he opened the door to the second floor. A seductive breeze preceded him. A seductive pizza-scented breeze. Whatever you want to talk about, buddy.

“There’s too much lunch. Eat it on the floor if you want, I won’t tell!” he said with a large grin. “Unless I forget not to. Bye!”

“Hey Kev, are you headed home? It looks late.”

“Lunch.” He set down two pizzas from different shops and with odd toppings.

“What a strange world you inhabit, Kevin.”

“Same as yours, right?”

“Boobs.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly. “Later!”

-

Holtzmann wandered around the firehouse, her head clearer and her mouth full of pizza. She sat in Patty’s little nook and wandered around Abby’s workshop. Thirsty, she made her way upstairs. She continued her wandering with pizza in one hand and a drink in the other. Without thinking, she sat behind Erin’s desk.  All the emotions of the past few days started to crash into her jet-lagged mind.

“Note to self, leave Erin’s stuff alone…mind if I borrow a pen, Erin? I’m gonna write it down.” Holtzmann leaned forward to pluck a pen out of the tidy collection of pens, pencils, and markers.

Holtzmann’s half-eaten pizza landed on Erin’s clean empty desk with a splat. “Saved, by the adorable neat freak,” she breathed, terrified at the possibility of messing up again. She quickly finished the pizza and wiped her hands on her splattered overalls. She dashed to the cabinet below her workbench, but she had used the last of that cleaner on the couch. No cleaner in the bathroom. There was none to be found downstairs.

Holtzmann returned to the desk to consider what other methods could be used to rescue Erin’s desk from pizza grease. Of course, Erin had that solved. Erin was open about spaces like this. All the drawers that were were labeled with their contents. Opening the drawer  that had ‘cleaning solution, general purpose’ on its list revealed the cleaner. It also had one of those little hidden drawers, made to look like the frame of the desk. This one, however, was marked ‘left hidden drawer’. Holtzmann laughed and tried to ignore the pain in her chest. She hauled out the bottle and hissed at the new scratch on her hand. She set down the bottle and investigated.  
   
Some of the wood veneer on the not-so-hidden drawer was loose. Holtzmann crouched down to take a closer look. It would be an easy fix, a little wood glue and some masking tape. She grabbed a flashlight from her belt and inspected it to see how far the damage went. Instead of torn wood fibers, there was a tiny piece of paper. In Erin’s careful print, it read:

  * Bandages
  * Tweezers
  * No confidential documents
  * One treasure
  * NOTE: Open it if you want, Holtz. Fix it, please, so I know you looked for cleaner. ;) Erin



She handwrote the emoticon in the old text style. Of course, because it was Erin, It had a date. Not long ago, only a couple days before she left.   
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, FLUXX Nightclub club in California**  
  
_♫ Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Bunnng. ♫_  
  
Patty never had understood people who would just sit when they could be dancing. The one playing now had inspired dancers and fighters alike for three decades. It geared the body up. It got the mind ready to go in swinging. She knew all sorts of moves for this song. She could feel it flow through her body, calling on old and new tricks.  
  
Except, she sat.  
  
When this whole contest was put together, Patty did not realize she would be sitting. Judging and sitting, now for the second night in a row. The first night was so packed that the club owners asked to extend it. Thankfully, all the nerds who thought playing DDR made them a good dancer were gone. All those guys did was move their feet in these precise little motions, their body limp and uninteresting. Another group who had watched a couple of YouTube videos and thought they were sex gods, they were out.  
  
It was down to three. This song just happened to be next, but it favored the one who caught her attention in the initial sign-ups.    
  
This dancer was one of the few close to Patty’s age.  The other two remaining were in their 20s, both of them had followed her around at the convention. This man had a warm voice and did not take himself too seriously. His face was not handsome exactly, but kind. It had some distinguished-looking wrinkles that told of a life full of laughter. He started dancing in the late 70s as a teen and never stopped. He did a Nerds Dance for Charity thing every year on the Upper West Side, so he was practically a neighbor. The prize money, he said, should go to the relief fund for the damages inflicted by the ghosts several months ago. Some people still needed help, since the insurance companies had deemed it all ‘acts of God’.  His summary said that he “learned computers because no one would pay another NYC Italian to dance in ‘79.” _I like that, you’re honest._ She thought to the profile. _If you were single, I’d like that too._ Whatever the outcome, Patty hoped to get a date with this one.  
  
His late 70s/early 80s moves were appropriate for the next song, but he was not limited to his high school and college years like most people. Over the course of the contest, she had seen him roll, lock, and grind with nearly every part of his body. He gave her a friendly smile as the core of the song started. He did a dancer’s take on Rocky’s warm up, jogging in place, high knees, and throwing playful punches.  
  
Patty sat back to watch all three of them, ready to throw the chair and take the floor for herself.  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, hotel in California**  
  
After another day with snobby nerds, the mopey agent, and the threat of con crud, Abby just wanted to curl up and read. She called for extra pillow sand blankets from the front desk. When Patty left for the second night of her V-neck grind, Abby made a fort of pillows and snuggled into it. There was one problem with her cozy plan. The only flashlight she had was on her phone.  
  
She had avoided the device, but now she picked it up. Out of habit, she unlocked it to check messages. That redhead’s picture was still up. Abby burst out of the pillow fort, roaring in a way that would delight her friend Holtzmann, who did not take things too seriously. And her friend Erin, who took too many things seriously.  
  
Abby’s anger at Holtzmann surged. The firehouse was their place, the place where both of them could have workshops. No idiots to sneer at them. It was Home.  
  
And Holtzmann…did that woman there near all of Erin’s stuff. Abby had no idea how Erin would react, but she knew it would be messy.  
  
“How dare you, Holtz!”  
  
Abby knew that Holtzmann was lonely for a woman she saw almost everyday. It was not that Erin was only interested in men or even that she was oblivious. She had the mother of all hang-ups, which Holtzmann could help her sort out. The months-long anger at Erin fought for her attention. Abby found herself talking to pillows, the plain one on the right representing Erin, the weird decorative one on the left for Holtzmann.  
  
“Why don’t you tell her?” she gestured from right to left. “Why do you let her hurt? If it is so hard…I was your friend first, remember, Erin? I knew her. Why don’t you talk to me about it?”    
  
“And you!” she pointed angrily at the decorative pillow. “Why do you do that? Why do you let Erin get away with it? I was your friend first, remember, Holtzmann?”  
  
Abby sat down heavily on the bed, which sent the pillows tumbling to the floor. “Why don’t either of you talk to me?  Think I’ll be mad? Even dopey puppy love would be better than seeing you two hurt each other. And puppy love is nauseating. Is it because I don’t-”  
  
_*Ding*_ A message from Patty lit Abby’s phone. “LAST THREE! Turrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn it up!”  
  
Grateful for the distraction, Abby put in her earbuds. Inspired by the song and her anger, Abby went downstairs to the gym. It was huge with a full pool, weight room, cardio, hot tubs, and several different sizes and weights of punching bags.  
  
_♫ Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Bunnng. ♫_  
  
“Boxing gloves!” Abby exclaimed, delighted. She suited up, listening to the music of Patty’s dance-off. The gloves were too big, but she sauntered over to the punching bags. If it worked for Holtzmann, maybe it could work for her.  
  
She walked around the bag, giving it evil-eyes and threatening grimaces. When it seemed appropriately frightened, Abby pulled back her right hand. She threw it forward with all of the anger and frustration eating at her. It impacted the bag with all that pent-up energy.  
  
“OWWW!” Abby exclaimed. She took off the gloves and shook out her hand. “Well, this is stupid!”  
  
Abby stalked away.  She pulled the earbuds out of her ears in time to hear giggling.  
  
Three teenage girls who were now anti-Ghostbusters stood on paused treadmills. Their shirts had the Ghostbusters symbol with a not particularly creative second line to make an ‘X’ over the ghost. The blonde had her phone pointed at Abby. It was more like cackling than giggling.  
  
“Oh, big tough nose-buster,” one of them teased.  
  
Abby took a step toward them,“If you put that on YouTube-”  
  
“Like this?” the blonde smiled malevolently and pressed a button on her phone.  
  
“You-”  
  
“Is there a problem, Doctor Yates?” the smooth, serious voice of Agent Follmer said.  
  
He was fresh out of the pool, with a towel around his hips and another drying his hair. Drops of water still ran down his athletic chest and legs. The girls stopped giggling as soon as they saw him, staring at the older man in wonder. Abby’s nostrils flared.  
  
“There are worse videos of  me on YouTube,” she said, feeling tired all of a sudden.  
  
“Worse is subjective. May I?” he walked toward the blonde and held out his hand.  
  
The girl made strangled little noises of discontent. He did not repeat himself or look menacing. He simply kept his eyes on her face and his hand out. The other hand was in his pocket, calling up something on his phone. Finally, the blonde handed it over. He held the obnoxiously pink phone as if it were a dirty sock and pressed a few buttons.  
  
“Strange, I do not see a video of you, Doctor Yates,” he said evenly.  
  
One of the girls laughed, “Aww…he can’t find a video…sad.”  
  
The blonde snatched it back and looked. She pressed a bunch of buttons and swiped her screen, her eyes growing wider. “Well…well, it’s on YouTube anyway.”  
  
“Is it? Show me,” Follmer said in a cool, interested tone.  
  
The blonde looked, then repeated much the same furious clicking and swiping. “How-”  
  
Follmer turned toward Abby, speaking over the blonde as if she had ceased to exist. “It seems Ellie has found better company for this evening.”  
  
“She's gone!” one of the girls said. “She was our ride and our-”  
  
“Are you well, Abby?” Follmer said, interrupting again.  
  
Abby had been angrier, but it had never been this complicated. Even Erin probably would have figured this out faster. _A redhead for Holtzmann and a freaking Aryan majesty for me? What is going on?_  
  
When Abby did not respond again, Follmer turned to the girls and said, “You may go.”  
  
One of them protested, “We don’t need your-” The other two pulled her away and hauled her out of the gym.

When the door closed behind them, Abby sighed, “Nice trick.”  
  
“Your tone and expression do not match your statement. Do you see it as an overstep of authority?”  
  
“Thanks, I mean. It would have been embarrassing,” she said, monotone and walking out of gym.  
  
“If I have offended you, I ask you to tell me how.”  
  
“What is your mission here anyway?”  
  
“To protect you.”  
  
“Like a bodyguard?”  
  
“If you are properly protected, you will have no need of a bodyguard.”  
  
“A guy like you, for that? Whatever. Why did you magically appear?”  
  
“I am staying at this hotel. I heard your voice when I got out of the pool.”  
  
Abby stamped her foot. “Well, it’s not going to work on me!”  
  
“What?” Follmer said, feeling genuinely confused.  
  
“This…stuff…” she gestured at his bare torso.  
  
“Pardon?” he said coolly.  
  
“I never thought that was real. Just in movies. And I thought the FBI was better than- nevermind,” she gestured dismissively and started to open the door.  
  
“Speak your accusation clearly.”  
  
“FINE! Fine, act like you don’t know. HERE,” Abby pulled up the picture of Scully on her phone and thrust it into his face.  
  
A picture of him right now could be easily explained. Wet hair, shirtless, in a towel, because he was in a hotel pool. This was not the case for the picture of Scully, in a short smoking robe and heels. While he had only seen images, this was obviously the firehouse. Scully’s hair was messy and sweat had replaced every speck of makeup her face. Follmer called on all his years of training to hide his reaction.  
  
“Know her?”  
  
“A former colleague,” he said carefully, withholding the latent rage. As assistant director, she was a former subordinate, not colleague.  
  
“What, on the Seduction Squad?”  
  
Follmer pressed the phone back into her hand and spoke crisply, “Are you accusing me of inappropriate behavior?”  
  
“Why else would you stroll over here?”  
  
“You are my charge and your voice was strained. My mission directive is to keep you safe.”  
  
“From what? Cold nights?”  
  
“I do not appreciate this implication. Whatever another agent has done, I assure you it is not standard agency practice,” he said harshly, breaking his even tone.  
  
Abby deflated again, disappointed with herself. “Brad-”  
  
“Agent Follmer,” he said coldly.  
  
“Yeah, if you’re telling the truth, I deserved that. Sorry about it,” Abby said in a heavy, tired voice.  
  
“Your statement is nebulous. What are you apologizing for?”  
  
“Using you as a punching bag,” Abby said and walked to the elevators before he could respond.  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, dining room in a bunker in Somewhere, USA**  
  
At a table with the smoking elder statesman, Erin smelled the impossibly perfect rose at the table. She had to smell something. The tobacco smoke was awful, so she understood why no one else sat there. She had been sitting alone for a while, like at school when Abby was absent, then this guy made himself at home. He had not spoken other than a standard greeting. The rose reflected in the tines of a fork and reminded her of one that was perfectly impossible. She squirmed a little in her seat.  
  
“Those are telltale signs of a guilty conscious, Doctor Gilbert. Care to share with the class?” he exhaled smoke away from her. iIs tone was serious, but it seemed friendly enough.  
  
“Uh….I hid all of the cleaner bottles except one,” she blurted out, feeling too stressed by the weighty presence of all the generals and officers and other mysterious powerful people to hide or lie. “She has some under the bench, but I wouldn’t just…look there and it's a small bottle…l”  
  
“For what purpose?”  
  
“If she- if it’s found, then it means that she-” Erin sighed. “Means that she was taking care of stuff, good frame of mind to find something else.”  
  
“A harmless way to direct attention to a place if certain conditions are met. A limit of resources, not a removal. There is no guilt necessary.”  
  
“Words would be better though, if I’m going to say something.”  
  
“Has honor and care become restricted to words of late?”  
  
Erin blinked, noticing again that for every gun she could see, there were at least three more hidden. Her body ached from days of tension.  
  
“If this person is of your caliber of intelligence, a puzzle that challenges the mind is a greater way to show respect and admiration. Do you disagree? Or would she prefer a Hallmark card?” he put out his cigarette and grabbed another.  
  
“I had not thought of it that way.”  
  
“Now you deceive yourself, Doctor Gilbert,” he drawled.  
  
Erin looked down at her plate, feeling nauseous.  
  
“I beg your pardon. I am out of practice conversing with those who show their cards.”  
  
Erin gripped her dress and breathed, willing herself not to cry from stress.  
  
“This genuine care you show is lovely. The pure and raw kind that leaves you second guessing every step. A rarity now, among the company I keep. Glorious.”  
  
“What?” Erin said, her head cloudy.  
  
“Glorious, Doctor Gilbert, and grand.”  
  
Erin felt better for a second, then a thousand times worse. _Alliteration, right? Accident, just like that, right? Of course it-_  
  
The old man leaned forward and waited until Erin looked up.  
  
“You showed care for my health, here is a token in return. You carry a great weight, in the form of a two digit number. While of tremendous value, you were not the crucial variable or limiting factor. This is no mystery. You are the rate-determiner going forward, not back.”  
  
An agent and military man started walking their way. Erin took the opportunity to flee, grasping the stem of the rose so hard that it cut her palm.  
  
Nothing about this place was safe, not even the flowers. There was no way to tell where the place was. Alone again.  
  
_I want to go home to people who do not smoke at the table or think heartbreak is a polite topic for the dinner conversation or think that smiling is some sort of disease._

Erin had not realized the depth of her attachment to all of them until she had to be away. Abby, Patty, Holtzmann, even Kevin and the weird sandwich place.  
  
_I miss you, Holtzmann._  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, FLUXX Nightclub club in California**  
  
In general, women danced with their hips and men danced with their shoulders. Patty had seen a lot of shoulder action over the past two nights. There were skilled dancers that did more, of course, and the best three of them were left. However, none of them could dance like Holtzmann, who danced with her pelvis, her shoulders, and sometimes her knees. This waiting thing would be much more fun with some Holtzmann commentary and her goofy-ass moves to confuse the guys. Maybe next year.  
  
—

  
  
[Author's Note: Flip the tape to Chapter 10 for the second half.]

 

 

 


	10. Dance Break (B-side) [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dance montage continues from the A-side
> 
> [Author's Note: Flip the tape to Chapter 09 for the first half.]

**Thursday night, firehouse**  
  
Holtzmann did not let herself near the small drawer until Erin’s desk was clean. She tried not to think about it until the pizza grease was completely washed away from her hands. She failed on both, but she managed not to open it until the conditions were met. Breathing as carefully as archaeologist in a cursed tomb, Holtzmann slowly opened the drawer. True to the list, it contained:

  * A box of bandages in several sizes, with and without antibiotic, all with silly prints on them
  * Tweezers with a little flashlight attached
  * A long, slender allen wrench



Ideas bounced around Holtzmann’s mind. _An allen wrench? Erin, I have so many-_  
  
The mystery was solved as soon as she picked it up. This was no wrench. It was transformed to something greater. This new form had coaxed Erin out of her nervous, intense focus a few weeks ago. The transformation was simple. There was a piece of paper with a hastily drawn flower stuck to the bend with a frighteningly permanent glue, shellacing the flower as well. Holtzmann changed the music with her phone, then sat back and let herself get lost in the memory.  
  
—  
  
**Holtzmann’s memory of seven weeks ago, at the firehouse**  
  
“I’m worried your face will get stuck that way,” Holtzmann had said, in a ridiculous parental tone.  
  
“I thought it was already,” Erin replied, her eyes still stuck on her notebook.  
  
Holtzmann had been trying off and on for an hour to get Erin to take a break. She could tell, even five minutes would break the nervous rut Erin had dug for herself. She sighed heavily, “You leave me no choice.”  
  
Erin made a vaguely confused noise, still focused.  
  
“I am serious, Doc. This is the nuclear option. You should be careful about the codes,” Holtzmann warned. She immediately rolled up her sleeves as far as they would go and rummaged for supplies.  
  
“This isn’t nuclear physics,” Erin said without looking up, talking more to her notebook than anything. “It is in a way, of course, but that is more like…philosophy class. .”  
  
Holtzmann kicked on a familiar song, but Erin did not flinch. She had worked near Holtzmann long enough to tolerate the sudden changes in music. Most of the time, she tolerated it. Sometimes, appreciated it. Mostly. Sometimes.  
  
Holtzmann drummed along with a small allen wrench against the steel top of her workbench. _♫ Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Bunnng. ♫_   Her distracted audience of one missed her leap over the bench. She hid the small wrench in her pocket.  
  
Pelvis, shoulders, and knees. Holtzmann used such a dance to approach Erin’s open office. It was an odd half-dance, half-march, all-Holtzmann mix. _♫ Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Bunnng. ♫_  
  
Holtzmann paused a few feet away from Erin’s desk, then fell forward into a push-up that Erin could not see.  
  
“Holtzmann!” Erin startled from her chair, her eyes wide.  
  
Holtzmann dramatically reached up and grabbed the edge of the desk. She lip-synced to the first words.  
  
_♫ Rising up, back on the street ♫_  
  
“Holtzmann!” Erin said, outraged this time. “You could have hit your head or-”  
  
Holtzmann continued lip-syncing as she pulled herself up with only the strength of her arms, glad that Erin’s desk was bolted to the floor. The outrage and concern was expected. The sharp cut off of Erin’s sentence when she pushed against the desk edge with both hands and the way Erin’s eyes flicked between her eyes and lingered on her flexed bare arms was new. There had been glances, but this was an intent stare that stole Erin’s words away.  
  
_♫ So many times it happens too fast…You trade your passion for glory ♫_  
  
Holtzmann abandoned the lip syncing. She stayed steady on Erin’s desk, fascinated by the blush on Erin’s cheeks. She bent her elbows and leaned forward, singing now, _“♫ Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past…You must fight just to keep them alive ♫”_  
  
Erin swallowed, as if she had been caught doing something. She pushed away from the desk and stood up. Her posture stiff. Holtzmann was tempted to chase her, but this reaction was too new and volatile. Instead, she put the decorated allen wrench between her teeth and tried to say, “Erin, dance with me,” but the wrench mumbled it. Erin turned around with a bright amused sparkle in her eyes. She gestured, suggesting Holtzmann take the wrench out of her mouth first. Over the chorus, Holtzmann walked toward her, dramatically showing herself to be incapable of removing it alone.  Pulling on it with mock dramatic force  
  
Erin’s blush spread to her jaw and neck. This was also new. Holtzmann worried it was a sign she had gone too far, the start of an Erin Gilbert shutdown sequence.  
  
Erin did not step closer, but a whisper of her voice sang the next line.  _“♫ Face to face, out in the heat. Hanging tough, staying hungry. ♫”_   Without meeting the blonde’s eyes and without touching Holtzmann or the wet part of the wrench, she extended her slender arm and stole it away.  She returned the wrench to Holtzmann, as if she was returning a dropped pen.  
  
Holtzmann dried off the wrench and twirled it in her hand, thrown off her game for a moment, making the song more appropriate. Erin glanced around at anything that was not the little tricks of the wrench. Careful, so careful, like when she made the hearts of the proton packs, Holtzmann swept back a lock of Erin’s hair and tried to nestle the wrench behind the pale ear. Erin fought hard not to look at Holtzmann. She stared at the ground, which is where the wrench ended up, much too heavy for Erin’s delicate ear.  
  
To Holtzmann’s relief, Erin giggled when she retrieved the makeshift rose. When Holtzmann stood back up, another strange thing happened. Two of them, one on each of her shoulders.  
  
“Ok?” Erin asked shyly, of her forearms resting against the muscular parts of Holtzmann’s shoulders.  
  
_I meant dance near me...Is this all I had to do? Just…ask you?_ Not trusting her own big mouth, Holtzmann danced instead. Erin was shy and awkward, like a teacher supervising a junior high dance, bopping alone in the corner. Her movements were stiff from the long hours pouring over calculations at her desk. Holtzmann upped the silliness of her own dance, wanting to steal Erin away from her hang-ups.  
  
_♫ Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Buh.   Buh-Buh-Bunnng. ♫_  
  
Erin’s hips started to move fluidly with a goofy bopping of her head. Then there was that little smile, when she was caught being silly and realized it was fun, not embarrassing. It was a good start.  
  
Holtzmann rolled back and down with her shoulders, bending her knees, and leaning back. Erin moved with her instead of holding back, riding her shoulders forward. It was so unexpected that Holtzmann though Erin was falling forward and grabbed Erin’s waist. She felt Erin’s stomach tighten to move and started to correct her lean, barely containing a whimper of regret.  
  
Erin’s arms slid forward until her upper arms were on Holtzmann’s shoulders. Her eyes did not shy away. Erin’s breath smelled like coffee and ink from earlier in the day, when a chewed pen started to leak. Her lips were so temptingly soft and dark pink that it hurt. They smelled faintly of roses, maybe rosewater in her lip balm. They froze there, Holtzmann’s physical prowess tested to hold the position. Erin’s eyes shifted slightly, like they did when she made a long string of calculations in her head.  
  
_Erin, please…just this one move. One kiss, Erin, and you won’t ever have to make the first move, unless you want to. You won’t ever have to wonder if you’re wanted. One kiss, the first of a prodigious line. Please._  
  
The calculations finished and they were not in Holtzmann’s favor. Erin pushed gently against her to stand back up. The result did not say to shy away. Erin put her forearms back on Holtzmann’s shoulders as soon as Holtzmann stood up.  
  
“Could…if you want…I mean, I know a silly thing for this, from school…if you want to start it over,” Erin whispered, hiding her face.  
  
Holtzmann closed her eyes and breathed carefully. She thought at the time it was a dream, but that did not mean she needed to wake up. Holtzmann danced backwards, adjusting her angles so that Erin’s perch on her shoulders was not directly challenged. They ended up behind Holtzmann’s workbench, where her phone was laying on a back shelf. She quickly hit the restart button. Erin’s dancing was awkward, but it seemed comfortable, more like the teacher at the staff Christmas party.  
  
Holtzmann’s heart caught in her throat as something glorious happened. Erin started to sing.  
  
It was terrible. Awful. Out of tune and out of sync.  
  
And Erin knew it. But Erin’s eyes were bright, her smile happy and shy, her cheeks flushed. Erin danced around, trying to remember something, her arms still in place. Tone-deaf and having fun, tucked in close with Holtzmann behind the workbench.  
  
**_Beautiful._ **

A joyous ache punched Holtzmann in the chest.  
  
“You are glorious. The Great and Glorious Dr. Gilbert.”  
  
Not knowing what to do with the comment, Erin moved on. “Like this,” Erin said over the song. She let go as Holtzmann feared, then immediately edged her way under Holtzmann’s arm on one side, her graceful hand guided the much stronger arm over her shoulders. She wrapped her arm around Holtzmann’s waist lightly, almost like another question.  
  
It was sweet, almost too sweet. No one had asked her about such simple touches before. She started to worry if she had hurt Erin by not asking for friendly contact. No, that could not be. Erin touched her before, even dancing. _Is it different because you are dancing **with** me this time?_  
  
Holtzmann took too long to respond. “It’s ok,” Erin said, reassuringly, and began to withdraw her arm.  
  
“It’s good, fine, ok, yes,” Holtzmann said, then grimaced at her nervous answer. She held onto Erin’s shoulder.  
  
Erin gave her a relieved smile, held her snuggly, then returned to singing. Erin’s silly thing was just the little game where people walk in sync, taking long strides into each other’s way over and over. She sang and giggled as they walked across the floor. In a break in the words, she admitted that it was probably more impressive with more people.  
  
Holtzmann postured with one fist on her hip like a comic book character. “More impressive than Gilbert and Holtzmann? I think not. This cannot be the theme song though, old Sly took it. Gilbert  & Holtzmann, Impressive- no - Unstoppable Force!”  
  
“Like superheros? That sounds more like a law firm.”  
  
“Mouthful, for sure. Hmm…Gil-mann…no…”  
  
“Holtz-bert?” Erin suggested, her nose crinkled.  
  
“Immobile objects, beware the unstoppable force of Holtzbert!”  
  
“Um…sure…the Ghostbusters stuff,” she said right before the chorus. Before Holtzmann could reply, Erin sang louder and stuck in place, naturally bringing Holtzmann closer at the hinge of their arms. She risked glances at Holtzmann, her cheeks looked painfully hot. _“♫ Rising up, straight to the top. Had the guts, got the glory. Went the distance, now I'm not gonna-♫”_  
  
_**“STOP!”** _  
  
Erin jumped about a foot in the air. Without thinking, Holtzmann’s other arm wrapped around her protectively. This was the first time she had been truly unhappy to hear Abby’s voice.  
  
“Keep going, not much of the song left,” Holtzmann whispered encouragingly. Abby was headed up the stairs.  
  
Erin tried. Her volume dropped, her voice wavered more.  
  
“What a brave little toaster you are.” Holtzmann said low.  
  
“What an awful, sad movie. More like poor little toaster,” Erin's bottom lip showed a hint of a pout.  
  
Instead of kissing away the sweet little pout like she wanted to, Holtzmann renewed their earlier dance, coaxing Erin’s arms back to her shoulders. Taking a chance on the last few seconds before Abby arrived, Holtzmann held Erin’s waist. Erin shifted, but it was not a signal for her to let go.  
  
“Keep going, brave little cupcake,” Holtzmann winked.  
  
As Erin picked up the song again, there was a new look in her eyes. Holtzmann wanted to see it, over and over. It was a playful one that said  ‘you are signing yourself up for trouble, likely in the form of retribution’.  
  
“Survivor. Let Survivor sing it, “ Abby snapped at the top of the stairs, angry to be pulled away from her own focus. She was horribly sleep-deprived and stressed. There was some deadline Holtz could not remember. It was a Really Big Deal to Abby and Erin, but her part was already done. Erin's part was complete, but she had found something new to investigate.  
  
Abby was obscured by one of the columns near the makeshift break area.  
  
“Survivor’s not here,” Holtzmann took a small step back to meet Abby’s eyes.  
  
“I think we all know why. This song and dance would make them cry. Haven’t you sung this enough?”  
  
That was it. Erin’s shoulders tensed under Holtzmann’s arm. She paled and then moved away. Her reaction was too dramatic. Whether she knew it or not, Abby poked at an old wound.  
  
“Did Abby dearest lose her antenna-like helmet?” Holtzmann said in a forced calm tone.  
  
Abby’s eyes widened, surprised by Holtzmann's sharpness. After a breath, she said, “You haven’t been her _roommate_.”  
  
Erin mumbled a thanks for the break, grabbed her notebooks and purse, then fled. At least Erin did not apologize to Abby. Holtzmann had never wanted to growl in anger at Abby before and it was not a feeling she wanted to nurture. So, when Erin was quieter for the next few days, she let it go. Erin’s focus seemed weaker, her eyes staring through her work.  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, the firehouse**  
  
Letting the memory fade was painful. Holtzmann had not thought to look for the wrench. Erin must have taken it when she ran past Abby.  
  
She scrounged around in the bandage boxes. The scratch on her hand was not bleeding, but Erin left them for her. They were all so ridiculous, it was hard to choose until she found the small box with little cartoony handtools.  When she put the box back in the drawer, Erin’s tiny note fluttered onto the ground.  
  
The back of the note simply said, ‘ECTO-1’. Odd. The hearse was on the Other Side of the city. Holtzmann hopped out of Erin’s chair and went down to the garage. In place of the hearse, there was a spot for Kevin’s motorcycle and a neat pyramid of all of the other cleaning supplies in the fire house.  
  
“Well!…well, well, Doctor Gilbert, the data suggests that you liked dancing with me,” Holtzmann grinned. “Missed one bottle though.”  
  
There were small tags on each of the containers with their type and original location. Near the center of the horizontal pyramid, there was a void. The piece of tape on the ground read, ‘All-Purpose Solution, Holtzmann’s Workbench, Holtzmann’s Workshop’.  
  
Holtzmann drummed against her legs. Erin had not missed it. All of the other places were communal, but as the tape implied, this last one was not. “…Holtzmann’s workshop...huh,” she said in a strangled voice. “Yeah…that’s not going to be so easy to buff out.”  
  
Holtzmann grabbed the bottles that were supposed to be downstairs. Each time she set a container into its place, she stole away the label and stuck it to her pants. She repeated for the upstairs, amused by the increased quantity and specialty types. She wadded up the labels, obscuring Erin’s writing, and tossed them in the small trashcan behind her workbench. If anyone was going to interrogate Erin about this, then that person would be Holtzmann, no one else.  
  
All except one of the label was in the trash. Holtzmann slid down the pole and let her boots stomp onto the floor. Her feet moved slowly and heavily back to the garage. The lone piece of tape sat without context on the ground. Holtzmann paled. The timing, without context, would destroy this. If Erin thought she found the flower before Scully was here, this tiny flame of hope would be snuffed out forever.  
  
Holtzmann retrieved the piece of tape and bounded up the stairs. She downloaded an app that would put a timestamp on a picture like an old pharmacy-developed roll of film. After a few moments of set-up and several different angles, she had a picture that would work. Instead of sending it, she printed it out and tucked it into Erin’s drawer.  
   
The little label now had a home on a heavy chromium cylinder. Holtzmann put her feet up on the bench and leaned back, regarding the tape with playful suspicion. “All-purpose solution, huh? Is that what you think of me, Doctor Gilbert?”  
  
Though her stomach was full of donated pizza, Holtzmann had a sudden, crushing craving for something sweet.  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, hotel in California**  
  
The glass doors of the gym faced the the elevators. The proximity was nice, unless of course you were trying to make an exit and the elevator took a long time to come down. Abby stood awkwardly. It was too late to choose the stairs with grace. She could not tell if he was looking at her not. When the elevator finally dinged, the gym door opened.  
  
“Doctor Yates.”  
  
“Yeah?” she said tiredly.  
  
“I imagine your colleague will be otherwise occupied in the morning. Would you suffer my company at breakfast?”  
  
“She has an agent, doesn’t she? Of course. Sure, Agent Follmer,” she said. “It’ll have to be early, but…you knew that.”  
  
“Meet you in the lobby, at your convenience.”  
  
“Good night.” She hit the ‘close doors’ button before he could reply.  
  
Follmer caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. He was not a young man anymore, no longer in peak condition. Scars, the kind any combatant would recognize as gunshots and knife wounds, marred his torso. His face would have been better suited to laugh lines, but the wrinkles on his face betrayed his serious demeanor. It was an odd compliment, in a way, to be accused.  
  
However, Yates did not seem interested. Her eyes did not linger anywhere after the first surprised once over. Her anger did not stem from feeling compromised, nor did she seem it. The possibility of an attempt angered her, the betrayal of the trust a citizen gives a federal agency.  She was angry and those girls were little of it. There was nothing in her file other than friendship for Holtzmann or anyone, for that matter. This was a righteous anger, not jealousy, a home unmade. Foundations shaken.  
  
By Dana Scully.  
  
_We have more in common than you imagine, Doctor Yates, more than both of us imagined._  
  
Follmer took his phone out of its waterproof case and tapped an app on his phone that housed a live clone of Abby’s phone. The image was sent from their village’s idiot, along with another odd action pose. It arrived not long before his young partner went to the club ahead of Patty to scope it out. He knew that his partner had to be the one to report Scully’s implied behavior. They would discount his word instantly. He hoped that the kid would do it before morning, before they spoke again.  
  
His charge was wearing thin, not only from anger. It was too many people for an extroverted introvert to handle. It was going to get worse tomorrow and Saturday. Already, she had accused a federal agent of deviant behavior to his face in an empty, but public setting. She could get herself into something he could not get her out of, which would be bad for both interests. Follmer took the ten flights of stairs two steps at a time. Annoyed that he was slightly winded, he pressed a button on his phone that acted as the hotel key. He made a few calls, hearing Abby’s musical selection between them.    
  
_♫ And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night… ♫_  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, FLUXX Nightclub club in California**  
  
The favored dancer was wearing a v-neck, but it was no v-neck sweater. It was slung low, like the late 70s, and had no hope of hiding the man’s dark chest hair. He was sweaty, but not winded, and doing much better than simply holding his own against the other two. He was dramatic and entertaining, always a smile on his face when he was not acting like he was right now.  
  
His arms were down at his sides, fists clenched so tight it bent his elbows. His head was thrown back in a primal cry, a loud and clear voice heard over the sound system, as he put the original singer’s “eye” to shame.  
  
“♫ IIIIIIIIIIIIII- ♫”  
  
_He’s gay. That’s cool, but that’s how it’ll be,_ Patty thought to herself under the loud music like she was back in the booth. _There’s plenty of gay-mers here so-_  
  
“♫ -IIIIIIIIIIII ♫”  
  
 He made direct eye contact with her as the drawn out ‘eye’ completed and sang to her. _“♫… **of the tiger.** ♫”_  
  
Patty gave a low whistle. “Nope. That’s a man coming on to this lady, right here.”  
  
The other two bowed out, knowing they were crushed. They caught the kisses Patty blew their way. The young agent was relieved, he had stayed in the contest way too long.  
  
The dancer held his hand out to Patty. His body never stopped moving. A tapping heel, subtle shifts in his shoulders, even his outstretched fingers moved to the beat.  
  
“SWEET,  BUT YOU WON IT, GO FOR IT!” Patty yelled.  
  
He drew up his arms and made a loose, free version of Rocky’s stance, bobbing back and forth on his toes. He took several little punches in the air and then landed one on an invisible bag. It exploded his fist, then his hand fell open with his palm up. He summoned her with all of his fingers together this time.  
  
A challenge, offered with a playful, friendly smile on his face.  
  
“AW, HELL YEAH!” Patty sprung from her chair delighted.  
  
Patty let loose with all the pent up dances and the moves she remembered from her teenage years. They challenged each other’s space, pressed face-to-face and walking forward and back. He was a sweaty nerd, but he did not smell bad. Not in perfect shape, not a body builder, but he was svelte, a guy who danced regularly.  
  
Great hair. A shock of thick, black hair that Patty saw a lot of, because he was a good three inches shorter than her without heels. He did not seem to mind the difference.  
  
“Patty.”  
  
“Richard. Friends call me Rocky.”  
  
“Got a bit of an advantage, huh?” Patty laughed.  
  
He grinned with a mouth full of imperfect pearly white teeth. It was an infectious grin. “I was the only Italian guy in an Irish Catholic block. Listen, since this is my song and it’s about over and I’d never get all the courage to say this another way, want to dance a few more than go watch the new Game of Thrones?”  
  
“How’d you know I like that?” she narrowed her eyes.  
  
He stepped forward, challenging her again. “It is known, Khaleesi.”  
  
Patty gave him her wide, impossible-to-resist smile. “Awards first, champion, then you’re on.”  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, firehouse**  
  
“Now for all the ways it might break!” Holtzmann said cheerfully, pulling out another piece of paper.  
  
A heavy chromium cylinder sat next to her on top of plans for a cover for the hole around the fireman’s pole. Later, the cylinder might be a component. Tonight, it was a vase for an odd flower with a strange label.

Sounds drifted down, close to Abby’s workshop, which had caused the interruption. The cover would block sound, but get out of the way if the pole was needed. Holtzmann pulled all the notification systems during install and tests for small pieces of the new device. Otherwise, it might look like she was taking up pole dancing, going up and down over and over. It was too bad that all of the alarms were connected. That was a project for another day.  
  
Erin might come back and yell or ignore or interrogate. Holtzmann could not plan or predict for so many possibilities. But, in case of a certain unlikely outcome, she would have a playlist with no silence between songs and the noise-canceling cover. Holtzmann rubbed wood glue off her hands and got back to work. It was nice to fix something simple. It was refreshing to design something in a few minutes.  
  
_Thanks for the break and the bandage, Erin. The drawer’s fixed. You’ll have to come back here to get the flower. Right here and dance with me for it. You can sing as loud as you want._  
  
_Cupcake._  
  
—  
  
**Thursday night, Erin Gilbert’s quarters in a bunker in Somewhere, USA**  
  
Erin hugged her pillow to her chest. She laid awake, feeling small, powerless, and vulnerable. This time, she happened to be right. She was surrounded by cameras, people who kept their names secret, people who knew things she tried to leave behind. They poked at her until she danced or ran.  
  
There were whispers out in the hallway. She was not important enough for them to be about her, but they made her skin crawl. Without leaving the bed, she pulled her backpack off the chair. Of course, the chair clattered to the floor. Erin cringed more, her back tight and sore from the constant tension. Erin retrieved her headphones. The connector clicked and clattered against the phone until her shaky hand managed to get it secured.  
  
She laid back and stared at the enormous music library, too overwhelmed to pick. The noise-canceling effect of the heavy headphones muted the noise from the hall, but then she began hearing her own heartbeat, her own breath. Both were too fast. This was an intense version of something familiar. Laying awake, reliving every awkward step. Thinking of things she should have said. Getting more frustrated when, even in hindsight, she could not be clever.  
  
_I should not have hidden those, if **that** guy thinks it’s a good idea…that - what is the plan if she finds it, Erin? Maybe you’re wrong and she just wants to be your friend. She just wants to poke at you too._  
  
Erin’s anger rose about the anxiety for a moment, enough to chastise herself for thinking badly of someone who had made life so much better and so confusing.  
  
_Even more productive…but she definitely can’t know that_ , Erin finished the thought with wide eyes.  
  
She plucked the rose off the nightstand. It was a gorgeous flower, but its thorns were wickedly sharp. Erin tore them off, thinking of the flower in her desk. She traded the treacherous flower for her phone and scrolled down the long list of songs. It felt slightly less _lurid_ to scroll instead of search. Erin snuggled into bed and listened to the song that had become a guilty - _**so guilty -**_ pleasure.  
   
Erin knew she was a bad singer. It was not such a terrible deal for a physicist. Those gorgeous eyes shined so bright when she started singing with this song. Those dimples…. When Holtzmann encouraged her to keep going, even she was surprised when she was able to. So free. Safe. Safe to be free. To live that moment, leave everything else. _I don’t know what I give you…but…have it._  
  
The moment the engineer's hand grabbed the desk, Erin knew what Holtzmann was doing. But when the blonde pulled up on the desk and locked those amazing blue eyes on hers, Erin forgot what _she_ was doing.  
  
Erin turned off all the lights and restarted the song. She hugged her pillow tight again, but this time it was between her legs. She thought of the dance that was just wacky enough to keep her from shying away. It was pretty tame for Holtz, but it was impossible to remember all of the moves. What stayed in her mind was how it felt when Holtz’s strange motions made her own awkwardness feel like it belonged. Feeling guilty even as she did it, one of Erin’s hands took over for the pillow.

Riding forward on Holtzmann’s shoulders like a wave was the breath-taking freedom of surfing. Holtzmann's hands grabbed her waist to steady her, but did not push her away. The grip was perfect, firm but not grasping, when she slid her arms forward. Those blue eyes, locked in a moment with hers, close enough to learn how the unpredictable, charming, outrageous genius _kissed_.  
  
Goosebumps spread over her body. Just for a moment, she stopped caring about infrared cameras and agents and tobacco and left her insecurities behind, as only Holtzmann could inspire.  
  
Erin buried her face against the blankets and gasped a two syllable word, muted by the fabric. It was not a finish, she was far from that, but it felt so good to say. It pulsed between her legs, so good, so right and so wrong. So good.  
  
Erin started the song over and imagined it again, changing that moment. Holtzmann’s strong arms holding her close tohe amazing body that was only glimpsed in the occasional crop top. She wanted to unwrap all those bulky layers like a present. She wanted to lavish it with attention, knowing Holtzmann would hide it away again, another present for another day.  
  
But she always got stuck here… _how_ …how would Holtzmann kiss. Imaging all the different ways was enough for her to turn onto her belly and rock against her fingers. The song ended, but she no longer needed it. She asked herself questions she had asked before. Whatever she guessed, Holtzmann would remake into something more brilliant and less predicatable.    
  
Kisses…and how would she touch…how would she want to be touched…how would she use that tongue that did all sorts of gymnastics to be humorous…how would she taste…would she kiss after…  
  
Those dexterous, skilled hands…  
  
Would she want to curl up together after? Somehow, Erin knew this answer was yes.  
  
What would that smile look like the next morning, with her hair even crazier than normal?  
  
Erin shuddered. No matter how her hips or her fingers moved, she felt too guilty to finish. If she was going to hold back, she should not be doing this. It started to feel like another failure.  
  
Something Holtzmann said that day popped into her mind. The word was terrible. She was a grown woman, not a baked good. Yet, her fingers sped at the vision in her mind: Holtzmann hovered over Erin’s prone form, protective. Her warmth comforting, sheltering Erin from everything else with her body. Her voice encouraging and infuriating as she leaned down to whisper, _Keep going, brave little cupcake._

 

 


	11. Line Diagrams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday for everyone. 
> 
> Erin's return does not go as Holtzmann feared.

**Friday morning, firehouse**

“Swear- didn’t do it,” Holtzmann said, her voice muffled by fabric. “Why would I put a snake in the girls’ locker room?”

She laid on her stomach, the collar of her shirt stuck in her mouth.

"Well, it _was_ pretty heroic."

Her eyes were closed tight. Her forehead would have a deep impression of the couch cushion’s seam.

“Ok ok alright…but why would I do it _again_? Geez, that’s just lazy,” she added, then rolled over and left the dream behind.

—

**Meanwhile...**

Erin got into Mulder’s car, anxious to find out about the alarms.

In California, Abby and Patty find their schedule streamlined and a dedicated break room waiting for them.

—

**Friday morning, an hour later**

Holtzmann stumbled home for the first time in days. She covered her eyes and shambled down the street, making zombie noises at rude people and the kids that noticed her.

“At least there’s keys!” she said, realizing that her phone was still at the firehouse.

“You talking to me or what?” a gruff man’s voice said at the bottom of the stairs.

“Bobby, hey,” she yawned.

“You’re supposed to cover your mouth when you do that.”

“Yeah?” she said, yawning again.

“Germs.”

“Well, this is my air up here, right?”

“You kook. Come ‘round front before you leave. Some of those parts are in.”

“Already?”

“Guy said he had’em ready to pull.”

“I need a shower,” she said frankly.

“I don’t wanna know.”

“That’s good,” Holtzmann nodded, then opened her door.

“…wait, why’s it good-”

-

“Hi girl-cat Lamarr. You’re looking like hunting’s been choice.”

An enormous, muscular cat sat curled in the bathroom sink. It had calico short fur, a notched ear, and a few wicked looking old scars. The cat’s only movement was opening its eyes, but it managed to look irritated.

“Look, you told me to put in the girl-cat part.”

The big cat yawned at her.

Holtzmann yawned back, partially for snark, but mostly for jetlag. She worked more than 24 hours with few breaks. The couch was not as restorative as a quick shower and a bed would be. The big cat got up and stretched when Holtzmann turned on the water.

“Where’s Hedy?”

Two deep green eyes narrowed at her.

“Oh…whoops. Sorry,” Holtzmann said, and gave a low whistle, turning away.

The cat dropped to the floor, twirled around her leg once, then hopped up onto the windowsill.

“Favor paid by the Queen must be recognized,” Holtzmann bowed, stifling a yawn. She scratched behind the cat’s ears twice. The big cat yawned at her again, then used polydactyl paws to open the window. It hopped quickly to the other sill, then closed the window again. The large cat’s weight rattled the fire escape on the way down to the ground. Holtzmann heard the thump that meant Lamarr had spotted something in the trash bin below and dove for it.

Glad again not to be a rodent in NYC, Holtzmann tested the water. It had been a few days since the old shop’s hot water had come up here. She wandered into the small galley kitchen. Two different kinds of apples, peanut butter eaten with a spoon, and a disappointing bag of popcorn later, steam poured out of the bathroom.

She stripped out of the overalls, shirt, and bra. She groaned, delighted to be free of the restrictive fabric. There was a small reminder of the tenderness Scully caused. Still feeling bleary, she got into the shower without taking off her boxer briefs or socks. After a defeated sigh, three pieces of wet fabric flew from the shower to the sink. Soap, hot water, and a powerful jet showerhead soothed several aches.  
—

Meanwhile, Erin and Mulder listened to Holtzmann and Scully having sex.

—

“ _Whoa_.”

Holtzmann said as she saw herself for the first time since Wednesday. Her jaw felt much better, but it was still angry with purple spots. The bruise spread all the way along her jaw. She wandered into her bedroom with only a towel wrapped around her hips, then crashed on the bed. A small reddish brown cat hissed at her.

“Out!” Holtzmann said.

Another window opened and closed, Holtzmann saw the silhouette of one large cat and one smaller one through the curtain. “I’m glad you guys are back on meowing terms,” she yawned and fell asleep.

 

“Holtzmann,” Erin gasped against her ear.

“Is that what the H stands for?” she grinned, setting her chin on Erin’s shoulder.

“No, that’s T for Trouble. Like in RIVER CITY. Why did you sneak up me like that?”

“Sneak?” Holtzmann looked down at her big heavy boots.

“You know what I mean,” Erin snapped and erased the small mistake caused by her startled jump. Then she erased the whole line, because she did not like how the new ink looked different from the rest.

Holtzmann smoothed her hands down Erin’s sides and held the slender hips.

“Holtz,” Erin said in a warning tone. “I’m working.”

“I’ll just be right here,” Holtzmann breathed against Erin’s neck.

Erin sniffed at her, then went back to writing on the whiteboard. She kissed Erin’s neck, her posture awkward enough to declare innocence if the door opened. On the far side from the door, her hand pressed in firmly until she reached Erin’s chest. She moved her thumb over Erin’s nipple through the padding meant to protect the sweet sensitive skin. It was such a joy to learn that Erin wore them for that, not because she was self-conscious of her small chest.

“That is not helping,” Erin said evenly.

“I told you I’d convince you to take a break.”

Erin’s nostrils flared and she tried to concentrate on the equations she was copying to the board from her notebook. Holtzmann felt her nipple harden under the fabric and brushed her thumb over it at a furious pace.

“Hmph. Next time you’re working, we’ll see how you like it when I hide under the bench and distract you.”

Holtzmann kept her growl quiet, just for Erin’s ear. “You want to help me work, Cupcake?”

“Oh, no, Holtzmann.”

“You said you would be there. You could hand me tools.”

“But Holtz, my hands will be busy.”

-

“Holtzmann,” Erin gasped against her ear.

They had not landed like Holtzmann hoped. She moved her leg up onto the couch to move Erin’s hips closer to her own. “What do you want?” she breathed against Erin’s neck.

“You.”

“Whatever you want. Take it.”

“Holtz, I’m not sure how to, after the way you-”

“Then collect some data.”

Erin met Holtzmann’s grin with a shy smile. “But who will take the notes?”

“You’ll end up with a comic book page if I do it. All up to you.”

“But Holtz, my hands will be busy.”

-

“Holtzmann,” Erin gasped against her ear.

“What? No good?” Holtzmann stepped away from securing Erin into a new proton pack.

“Of course it’s not good! You already pick the music up here, why on the packs?”

“Well…do you want to play something? You never said.”

“Oh,” Erin scuffed at the floor with her plain tennis shoe.

‘What song? I’ll find it if I don’t-”

“Maybe something by Survivor,” Erin whispered, looking up at her shyly.

“You could just turn it to anything, you know,” Holtzmann said, uncertain what to do about the request. “The controls are up by the shoulder.”

“But Holtz, my hands will be busy.”

-

“Holtzmann,” Erin gasped against her ear.

“Come on, baby, let go,” Holtzmann said, reassuring and encouraging.

Erin’s gasp sounded close to a sob.

“I’m right here, you’ll fall just far enough.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll catch you. Then it’s my turn, like I promised.”

“But Holtz-”

 

Holtzmann finally forced herself awake from the dream. They were a cruel side effect of her vivid imagination. For every one of her ideas, there were hundreds of dreams that seemed real. It was another reason she loved making things. They would still exist in the morning. She growled in frustration, slamming her hands against the bed. _Better stop dreaming those. It’s messed up. It’s done. No fix.  
_

Awake, Holtzmann grabbed a few things from her closet. She picked top covering garments and bottom covering garments, then brushed her teeth. She pressed play on her MP3 player which was hidden within a still-functional Walkman. She stopped for a sandwich and bought controversial Chicago-style popcorn from a street vendor on her way back to the firehouse.

—

**Friday afternoon, high altitude**

Erin rode in a helicopter. Through messages with Mulder, she got some information on the aircraft itself. She started to recognize the land below. They were getting close.

The next moments could be added to the small scrapbooks of moments where Erin did not care what other people thought. The agents took their strange “I’m seeing you without looking at you” positions. With all the grace of a nervous 14 year old, Erin pulled on jeans under her skirt. It would not slide over her hips with her jeans in place. She moved on. The suit jacket and heels fit into the bag after she grabbed her tennis shoes. She laced them up tight and cinched her bag closed. Erin needed to be ready to move. Hustle.

—

**Friday afternoon, firehouse**

“You smell better!” Kevin greeted her. "Like popcorn."

Tired and not certain why she was at the firehouse at all, Holtzmann stomped up the stairs.  

“Holtzmann?”

“Yeah?” she paused.

“Should I close up when Erin comes back?”

“Sure. That’d be good.”

“What about the party?”

“When Abby and Patty are back too.”

“Oh…alright. There’s a cake though.”

Holtzmann’s boots squeaked on the stairs as she turned to face him. “Just for Erin?”

“Yeah. It’s ice cream cake.”

“Why?”

“Cause it’s ice cream AND it’s cake.”

A headache rushed into Holtzmann’s skull. She wondered if it was like the one Erin complained about, then it flared brighter.

“It does that to you too? Thinking about ice cream? Or cake? Holtzmann?” Kevin called after her, but she was already upstairs.

-

Holtzmann stared blankly at her worktable. Each of her hands flipped around ball point pens. The shower had not removed all the blue from her hands, but she was too tired to care. _Poor Kevin, that cake will melt way before she gets back tomorrow._ She wandered over to the couch and fell asleep.

—

**Friday afternoon, NYC**

“What do you mean we have to wait to rent a car?” Erin snapped.

“We just got out of a helicopter, Doctor Gilbert.”

“There are taxis right there!”

“The agency doesn’t like taxis.”

Erin stamped her foot in frustration and turned away.

“Doctor Gilbert, I need to wait here for the clerk.”

Glad she changed shoes, Erin raced away. She waved without turning. “Bye, Agent Mulder!”

“Hey-”

Mulder's long legs and training meant it was easy to head her off, but she did something he did not expect. Instead of taking the first taxi, she raced up the line of constantly moving cars, looking in the windows. She got in one that that had probably been in service since 1979. It started to pull away instantly. Mulder got into a newer, smaller car, then gave the address to the firehouse.

“We’ll probably beat her there,” he shook his head.

“What’s the address? I need to put it in the GPS.”

-

“Wait, that’s the old- YO! Ghostbuster!”

“Hey, you recognize me?” she said, surprised.

“You need to get to the firehouse? More ghosts?”

“Please, as fast as you can,” Erin fidgeted. ”Not ghosts so much. I’m worried about the people.”

“Not gonna punch my nose are you?” the old cabby joked as he navigated through the maze of cars.

She sighed.

“No no, that little punk deserved it.”

“I wouldn’t say such bad things about punks.”

“True. So true. Good music when they’re starved in the garage.”

Erin looked out the back window and smiled. By the time Mulder’s driver had punched in the address, Erin’s taxi was long gone.

“Thanks, Patty,” she said quietly.

“Oh, that tall one with the big ghost on her shoulders? It’s gone right? It’d be hard to go through doors and all. Anyways, why you sayin’ thank you?”

“That ghost is gone. Patty said if I ever needed to get through the city fast, find a cabby without a phone map.”

“Did she say to find an old car and cabby too?”

“Yeah,” Erin grimaced at the admission.

“Smart cookie,” he grinned, revved the powerful 70s-era engine, and made a sharp turn onto a side street.

-

Mulder sighed, stuck in traffic a few blocks back. _Outplayed by a civilian. Great._

-

Erin asked the cabby about his car. She overpaid him in advance, thanking Patty again for the idea of carrying cash for this.

“I’d say you don’t have to ‘cause of what you did, but you look like you’re doing okay and I’ve got bills.”

“Sure,” Erin said distracted. “How long?”

“Five or six minutes.”

“What about with GPS?”

He snorted. “Thirty at least, more this time of day. Almost faster to walk.”

_With a margin of error of ten minutes, that meant there were fourteen minutes between opening the cab door and Mulder’s arrival._

“You alright? I can call the cops for you, no charge.”

Erin did not catch the joke. “No,” she said softly.

“Oh, _that_ kinda trouble. Girl trouble.”

"Sort of."

—

Kevin closed up the firehouse. Holtzmann woke up to take off her boots. Somehow, she ended up with a sock on one of her hands. She laid her head down and snored. Her body was in an awkward position, holding her ankle like her boot was still there.

—

“She _what?_ ” Scully laughed.

“I thought you’d be more supportive, Scully,” Mulder said with fake hurt.

“You need back-up?”

“Hmm..what do you think?”

“Catch me up.”

—

Holtzmann startled awake. _Did someone say my name?  Erin’s voice. Another dream. She won't be back 'til Friday._ Holtzmann sighed, fixed her position on the couch, and drifted back to sleep.  
In her sleep, Holtzmann heard footsteps, stomping fast up the stairs.

“HOLTZMANN!”  
  
Erin’s voice again. There was a catch in it, but not the kind Holtzmann tended to dream. Scared. The door on the stairs swung open.  
  
Holtzmann covered her head with her arms and tried to hide from the dream.  
  
-  
  
The firehouse was dark. Kevin was not there, but he responded to a text on the way over. His message could have meant Holtzmann was sleeping or sleeping with someone or dead. The whole place was much too quiet. Erin yelled for Holtzmann, but there was no answer.  
  
Again, on the stairs, she yelled.  
  
No answer.  
  
The work bench was vacant. Breathing hard and fast, Erin got out her phone and called Holtzmann. The phone danced on the work bench until it clattered onto the floor.  
  
Erin fell to her knees by the workbench. She tried Holtzmann’s apartment line that the shop downstairs mandated. No answer. Not even a machine.  
  
“Holtzmann,” Erin sobbed.  
  
-  
  
_This one is going to hurt._ Holtzmann thought, allowing the dream to happen this time.  
  
She forced her dry eyes open and tried to remember how to move her legs. The cold wood floor on her bare feet woke her up in time to hear a small keening noise. Erin leaned against the workbench. She wore a camisole, her thin bra straps showing. She had a suit skirt over her jeans and tennis shoes. Tears ran freely down her face.  
  
Bewildered, Holtzmann stepped close to the curled figure, “Erin, I’m here. What is it?”  
  
Erin startled and hit her head on the bench, but she did not notice the new pain. Her eyes scanned Holtzmann like the engineer was the cruel dream.  
  
Holtzmann’s eyes were red. There was a large angry bruise on her jaw and another one in a line on her forehead. Her palms and fingers were bluish-purple. Erin’s legs caught in the skirt as she tried to stand. She yanked it above her hips with an angry tug and rushed over to Holtzmann. Without inhibition, Erin threw her arms around Holtzmann and pulled her close.  
  
“Erin,” Holtzmann gasped.  
  
“Oh- I-” Erin backed up and looked over Holtzmann’s face. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Just woke up. Rebooting from newborn baby brain. Are you okay?”  
  
“Now I am,” Erin sobbed and pulled her close again.

The intense grip of her hug was the closest Erin had ever been. It would end soon and forever. Holtzmann wrapped her arms around the taller scientist, willing herself to remember every detail.

“Hey…what’s wrong? Can I fix it?”

“You’re okay. Kev’s okay. Patty and Abby are okay. That’s enough. You’re okay.”

Warm tears fell on Holtzmann’s neck. Out of instinct, she rubbed Erin’s back until the slender shoulders did not shake with every breath. While she feared the end of the moment, she needed to press for more information. It could be something urgent. “Why are you worried, Erin?”

Erin’s deep breath caught in her throat. Her shoulders tensed.“There were EVP recordings on Wednesday that-”

Holtzmann had not listened to the recordings. Maybe it was not clear what was happening. Or Erin simply did not listen to what she heard. Holtzmann‘s eyes closed tight, continuing her effort to memorize how good it felt to hold Erin and be held. Holtzmann would remember each detail of her warmth and the smell of her shampoo and how tightly she held on. She missed part of Erin’s sentence in the process.

“- and maybe I’m wrong, but they do carry guns, Holtzmann. It's not any different than drugs or- If it would be safer just to do- there's no shame or- _Are you okay?_ ”

Holtzmann’s truths were often more wacky and unbelievable than any complicated lie could hope to be. She rarely felt the urge to do it for more than a joke, but now an intense pressure to deceive raced into her mind. She would not ever want to implicate Scully or anyone else for her choices, but Erin held her _so close_. There was no awkward posturing to separate their bodies, no air between them. It would hurt Holtzmann’s arms to let go, but Erin deserved the truth.

“I’m okay, Erin.”

She did not have to let go. Erin only leaned back, her shaky hand rested on Holtzmann’s unbruised cheek. She stared into Holtzmann’s eyes. “I know there’s not a lot we could do, but I’d try…I have well, contacts now...I think...Are you sure? What about your face? Your hands?”

“That’s-” Holtzmann’s quip died on her tongue. “Before and after.”

“You’re okay?”

“Just…that and working, it’s-”

Erin’s slender arms wrapped around her so fast and fiercely that Holtzmann’s breath was interrupted. Erin sobbed again, noisier, with instant large tears. Overwhelmed and confused, Holtzmann flattened her hands on Erin’s back.

“I…Holtz…I heard, okay? I heard them. And the pictures. I was so worried and I **_missed you_ ** and…I’m _**so glad you’re okay**_ ,” Erin said in a shaky voice.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No.” After a long pause, Erin spoke against Holtzmann’s shoulder, “Well, a little."

“Just a little,” Holtzmann repeated in disbelief.

"Cause, it was here. And…that whiteboard has to go.”

A laugh bubbled out at the absurdity of this cruel dream. This is not how Erin Gilbert would react. Unless - unless she was actually frightened and missed her engineer as intensely as the hug implied. It hurt Holtzmann’s chest to consider.

“I’m serious, Holtzmann. I don’t want to see it anymore.”

“I’ll take care of it."

Erin nodded against her shoulder. “Were you up late working? Get anything to eat?”

This sounded like Erin, but her body was still pressed so close. It could not be real.

“Early, got some magical delivery pizza and popcorn - Erin, I don’t get it.”

Erin pulled her head up from Holtzmann’s shoulder. Her breath tickled for a moment before she gave Holtzmann a soft and sweet kiss on the cheek. She immediately shrank away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Doctor Gilbert, I have licked your face. More than once. This is fact.”

The lights made the blush of Erin’s wet skin shine. Something about her expression hinted that she knew the exact number.

“Do it again, if you want,” Holtzmann grinned.

Erin shook her head, sending a dagger of pain into Holtzmann’s chest.

“I - there’s something-if…if you want I- I thought I couldn’t but maybe- “

Erin’s stutter was painful for Holtzmann to hear. She wanted to rush in and save her with a goofy face or noise.

“Will you- Holtz, will you be here tomorrow? I’ll put it together. Tonight,” she said, as if the decision was made spontaneously, even though Holtzmann could tell it was not.

“I’ll be here.”

Holtzmann opened her arms. Erin eyed them, her face pale.

“My friend Doctor Gilbert, you have a severe hug deficiency. I can _smell_ it.”

A tiny smile quirked on Erin’s wet face. “Okay,” she whispered. While her grip was not as tight as before, it was solid. Nervous near her chest and pelvis, but solid.

Holtzmann gritted her teeth. After all of Erin’s oblivious behavior, she had to be sure. “Erin…you know what the recordings were-”

“Yes. I. Do.”

Erin’s crisp tone was enough to know she did understand. They stayed locked in the hug for a few minutes.

“You give the best hugs,” Erin whispered.

“It’s because I’m not afraid of your boobs.”

Holtzmann regretted the comment immediately, but Erin snorted. It was more than a little gross because of her crying-induced sniffling. Holtzmann shrugged off her open button down shirt.

“Here, big tissue, just for you,” she grinned.

“Ew….thanks.”

Erin turned away to blow her nose, uncertain where to hold the shirt at first. She blew her nose, set the shirt aside, and returned to their hug. Holtzmann squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“So…what did you make?”

“Just diagrams so far-”

“Can I see them?” Erin asked with a little hop in her feet. Her eyes were bright and interested, her smile excited.

Holtzmann yawned, at first for effect, then it turned into a real one. “I think there’s still some drool on this wrench,” she stuck out her tongue in a comical disgust.

Erin smoothed down her skirt and moved back and forth, twirling it a little over her jeans.

“Nice look, by the way. Good to see you branching out,” Holtzmann winked. “Maybe you can draw lines up your jeans, like stockings.”

“Oh, like they did when nylon was rationed?  It’s so hard to get those on straight.”

Holtzmann turned away, hiding her overwhelmed blinks. She held back the small keening noise in her throat instead of putting her hand on her forehead to swoon. There was a silent chant in her mind when she pulled out the first diagram _Please don’t be a dream. Please don’t be a dream. The stockings have definitely been dreams before, but-  Come on, Universe! Don’t be a wuss!_

Erin grabbed her notebook from her desk. She opened it to a blank page, then leaned over the bench from the other side. “Do you have a pen? Mine are kinda greasy.”

“Oops,” Holtzmann grimaced.

“Why are my pens messy?” Erin asked in a high, tight-throated voice.

“Pizza! The pizza! I dropped some on your desk and forgot about the pens!”

Erin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Holtzmann handed her a pen shaped like a birthday candle. _This is really not a good time for the blowing on it joke, Holtz._

“Does it light up?” Erin said, holding it up to the window.

“You have to blow on it. Make a wish and everything.” Inside her mind, Holtzmann banged her head against the wall.

“Wishes don’t make anything happen,” Erin said in a quiet, pained voice.

“Maybe you’re not wishing hard enough. Or blowing, for that matter.” _Wall, you and me. I owe you._

Erin opened her notebook on the far edge of Holtzmann’s bench. She wrote the date and looked up, “What’s it called? For my title.”

“Radiation Converter.”

“A diagram of a radiation converter? That’s…suggestive,” Erin said with an eyebrow raise. She wrote ‘Holtzmann’s Radiation Converter - Initial Diagram Review’ at the top edge of the page.

Holtzmann chuckled, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Suggestive?”

Erin carefully drew lines to separate her notes. Holtzmann had seen her do it several times. The engineer was always fascinated by the way Erin held the pen between her middle finger and thumb to trace down the page.

Erin said in a distracted tone, “Heat transfer, friction coefficients…”

“Great Scott!”

“Oh, well, that’s- seriously? Radiation produced by two bodies in motion? Conversion of potential energy? Not suggestive?”

“It is now.”

Erin looked up at her without moving her head. There was a cool ‘explain yourself’ gaze for a moment, then she reverted to her normal awkward fidgeting.

“You’re missing a piece, Doctor Gilbert.”

Erin flipped needlessly through her notebook. “Yeah, so what’s that?”

“You must start with ‘Assuming a frictionless plane’,” Holtzmann leaned over the counter, grinning like a wild cat at her own joke.

Erin sniffed dismissively. “’Frictionless plane’. What is this, undergrad?”

Holtzmann collapsed bonelessly onto the bench. It was a beautiful seed for countless friction-filled dreams. This was too strange. After the months of lonely nights and insecure days caused by Erin’s confusing oblivious behavior, now she promised to answer. Now she had spent touching Holtzmann than ever before. She wanted a new board, but was not too angry to speak. Something had happened. She seemed okay, but Holtzmann had trouble reading her in the past. There would be another check later to see if something happened while Erin was away from the firehouse.

“Get up! You’ll wrinkle them! Holtz…there are so many. I’m so glad this is why your hands are all blue.”

Holtzmann stood up and stretched. “View’s better back here.”

Erin watched Holtzmann move her arms above her head a blink too long. There was that face again. Erin was making calculations. Last time, Holtzmann waited and it was too late, already decided. _Say something good this time._

“I refilled the extinguishers,” Holtzmann blurted out, a bit too loud.

Erin woke from her trance. Without much of a change in her expression, she walked around the corner of the bench. Holtzmann’s hands ached to pull her close, like when they danced.

“Holtz,” Erin gasped, not too close to her ear. Not her whole name.

 _The flower. I forget about the vase. The label. Real smooth, Holtzmann._ “The pizza-”

There were footsteps on the stairs. Holtzmann held back a growl, thinking it was Kevin. She instantly planned to install locks and a buzzer, no matter what Abby said. It was her floor. Theirs. Though, a buzzer to go downstairs would be-

The door to the floor swung open. Holtzmann became aware of a slender arm around hers. Erin’s other hand was on Holtzmann’s bicep. _Baby, I’m here,_ Holtzmann’s chest ached. She wanted to reassure Erin, but there was only time to wrap her arm protectively around Erin’s waist before the tall intruder came into view.

A tall man in a suit flashed a badge at Holtzmann and said, “Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI.”

A smaller figure followed him up the stairs in practical heels and a pants suit. “Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI.”


	12. By Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, at the firehouse
> 
> Holtzmann and Erin realize that there was more to this encounter with the FBI than teaching and fact-finding. 
> 
> Holtzmann and Erin discover that their dreams did not prepare them for this first kiss.

It had to go wrong sometime.

Mulder and Scully stood there as if they owned the place. They both wore their service weapons openly and their badges proudly. Holtzmann seethed.

“Doctor Gilbert, you fled from federal custody,” Scully said.

“Custody?” Erin scoffed.

“Fled?” Holtzmann whispered, eying her.

“I was worr-”

“You agreed to the terms when the agency extended the invitation to teach,” Scully said evenly.

Holtzmann watched them closely. Of course, Scully talked while her partner stood stoic, with something like amusement gleaming in his eye.

Erin clenched her fists. “I read the terms. I read them more than once and took notes and talked to people about it-”

“A lot,” Holtzmann nodded, nearly making her chin point at the ceiling before bringing it back down. She remembered the annoying intensity of Erin’s review of the documents.

“Thank you,” Erin said, bolstered by Holtzmann’s comment. “At most you could call it protection.”

“Oh, she didn’t scroll down to the bottom and click agree?” Mulder said, amused.

“Smart,” Scully said in a sincere tone.

“It also said I would be escorted to NYC. Then, escorted to a residence or place of business _on my request_. I did not say anything about wanting to see **_you_** any more,” Erin snapped, pointing at Mulder.

Holtzmann looked back and forth between Erin and Mulder. He might fit Erin’s tastes.  _Is that why you aren’t mad, Erin? Did you...? Did you get hurt?_

“Mulder,” Scully said, clearly passing the baton to him.

“There were a couple rough patches with speakers, but I thought we got along fine.”

Erin gasped. Instead of outrage, it was raw anger. Her voice strained to maintain authority. She defaulted to an angry teacher, kicking a troublesome student out of the lecture hall. “You- you are sick. Have you just seen so much terrible stuff that you don’t care anymore?”

Erin’s face was red. She was yelling at a federal official. _Either something happened between you two, or you are an alien wearing an Erin skin suit._

“How DARE you come here. GET OUT!” Erin pointed her finger to the door. “And don’t even think about using the pole. That’s for GHOSTBUSTERS.”

“Now, that’s a bit of overkill, isn’t it? I got a helicopter.”

“For HER! When you heard HER. Then you stepped in my way with your stupid daddy-long-legs… legs and made everything take longer.”

“It is not information he must disclose. You agreed to the terms when you came to teach,” Scully said.

Holtzmann was so bewildered that she did not reach out in time to stop Erin from leaving the Workbench Fort. _Why haven’t I done that already? It’s so obvious and brilliant. We’d just need couch cushions on the floor, sheets draped across the benches. We could tell ghost stories with shadow puppets and roast marshmallows with the blow torch and_ -

 Erin stalked past the agents to her desk. She grabbed a marker and her white-board cleaner. “If that’s so,” Erin said crisply. “Then I’m still teaching.”

“Oh boy,” Holtzmann breathed, her eyes wide.

“I do not think we need any particle physics,” Mulder chuckled.

“The agreement did not limit the subject,” Erin snapped.

“True,” Scully agreed.

“You read it?”

“Mulder.” Scully said sharply.

“It seemed like standard issue,” he shrugged.

Erin drew on the white-board and Holtzmann almost fainted. It was one line, making a border for the section Scully and Holtzmann had cleaned off. “There’s a mysterious void here. Anyone have a guess?”

“Oo! I know!,” Mulder jumped up and down with his hand in the air.

Scully gave him a look that hit harder than a jab to the ribs. He looked at her sheepishly, with a small goofy grin.

“Was this in your agreement? To disrupt research?” Erin’s hands and voice were shaking, but she was making eye contact with Scully.

Holtzmann realized that Erin had lied. She did not mean to, but Erin did not realize that she was more jealous than angry.

“I have no obligation to reveal my orders to you,” she said coolly.

“Orders,” Holtzmann said in a growl.

“Oh, nice of you to join us, Holtzmann,” Scully said.

“You said personal. You said case closed. Two lies? Any more?” Holtzmann said through clenched teeth.

“My partner has business here.”

The spritz of a spray bottle filled the silence. It was followed by the light smell of white-board cleaner. Erin always used the specially made stuff. She hated sharing boards at Columbia where people would use isopropyl alcohol and ruin the finish, making the marks harder and harder to erase until alcohol was a necessity. The remnants of her new theory of isotopes interacting the the barrier melted away. Erin grabbed Holtzmann’s discarded shirt from the floor and wiped off the board. Her arm jerked, the muscle too tight for the motion.

“Why are you here?” Holtzmann narrowed her eyes at Mulder.

“Doctor Gilbert forgot this ancient relic in the helicopter, for one,” he held up Erin’s clunky headphones. “There are some final documents to sign.”

The marker squeaked on the dry board. Each line had a section and paragraph number from the agreement. One started with ‘headphones’ and quoted the agreement that personal items would be returned next-day air whenever possible. A second cited that documents could be signed en route, by mail, or by secure electronic file.

“You _memorized_ the agreement?” Mulder said, incredulous.

The third line with section and paragraph number detailed that any psychological interview would be held in private at the meeting place. Erin tuned them out. This time she cleaned the board with a heavy duty cleaner guaranteed to mar the surface. Holtzmann tried to demand reasons from the agents and they easily deflected.

Erin’s marker squeaked. Scully and Mulder exchanged glances when they saw the section and paragraph number. It dictated that the agent assigned to watch over the civilian teacher would do utmost to reduce the stress of the situation and aid the subject matter expert whenever possible.

It gave the agents pause for the first time in the conversation. When Holtzmann heard another squeak, she wanted to reach out and stop Erin, but she was too far away.

The next line had a had a number that did not seem related to the agreement. With all the stress, it took Holtzmann a moment longer than it should have to realize it was for her.  155 58 675 30 9. _Sure thing, professor._

The speakers complained as the opening bars of the song rattled their casings at max volume.

_♫ Jenny Jenny who can I turn to. You give me something I can hold on to. ♫_

Mulder tried to talk to them and Holtzmann kicked on the surround sound. She would have to replace several of the small speakers, but it was worth it to see the agents wince.

Erin did not see it. She soaked the board in 90% isopropyl alcohol as if the music did not exist. She scrubbed at it needlessly as the silly pop song played.

_♫ I tried to call you before but I lost my nerve. I tried my imagination but I was disturbed. ♫_

Scully tried to talk, not bothering to up her volume much.

“SONIC ATTACK! WOO!” Holtzmann said, briefly lighting a blowtorch because Erin was not close enough to high five.

Now there was a date and time written on the board. Holtzmann winced. She knew what was happening at the firehouse on Wednesday evening. It was also the exact timestamp of the blurred image of the board and the message she sent before scrubbing part of the board clean with Scully’s back. Erin consulted her phone for a second and then hid the screen. She wrote “MOE ± 2.71 cm” in the high upper left corner, then drew odd shapes on the over-cleaned board. Holtzmann glanced back and forth matched. They matched up to parts of the equations.

 _This isn’t the greatest time for a puzzle,_ Holtzmann thought, then tried to solve it anyway. Her mind tuned out song and the infuriating agents. It was not a true puzzle. Erin’s circles were all connected by one thing: Holtzmann. They were parts that Holtzmann helped Erin find or refine.

_♫ Jenny don’t change your number. I need to make you mine. ♫_

The last piece clicked into place. When Scully had set her mind wandering, Holtzmann realized the function of the gummy-worm shaped device, but not the implication. The design of the radiation converter superseded it the moment it came to her mind. The planted device was not anything special. There was no alteration of the radiation level, it simply fed errors to the radiation monitor. It tricked her just long enough.

Erin must have realized it when she saw the flower vase with the diagram. The planted device was right there. That is why she was frightened by the door and pale. _It’s why you held onto me, isn’t it? Because they TOOK._

_♫ …who can I turn to. Eight Six Seven Five Three Oh Nine. For the price of a dime I can aways turn to you. Eight-♫_

Holtzmann’s hands shook for something, for anything to hit. She slammed her boot down on the stop pedal way too hard, but it was meant to handle a dramatic stomp. The sudden quiet startled Erin and the agents. The firehouse was eerily still after the obnoxious music.

“Get Done and Get Out,” Holtzmann said, more sharp and vicious than Erin had ever heard from the quirky engineer.

Mulder shook his head, ears ringing from the intense rock concert volume of the music. “Sign these and you’ll never have to-”

“Leave them and she will mail it to you.”

“But you could be done with-”

“She will read it EXHAUSTIVELY before she signs it,” Holtzmann said through clenched teeth. “Go.”

“Come on, Mulder. Let’s go,” Scully said.

Mulder leaned to the side to catch Scully’s eyes, his eyebrows raised high.

“Let’s go. We are unwelcome and do not have a warrant.”

“But-”

“This _is_ Holtzmann’s Workshop,” Scully said, making direct eye contact with Holtzmann.

—

Kevin snapped a picture of Scully and Mulder on the stairs. He sent it to everyone, which meant that the moment after Erin and Holtzmann were free of them, they got a picture. Erin huffed and let her phone fall on the desk, then instantly checked to make sure it was not broken. She returned to her stringent cleaning of the board.

Holtzmann would have told her to stop, but she did not dare to speak. She rolled up the plans and stowed them in the wall cubbies made to hold extra fireman’s boots, then gripped her workbench, staring at it like it should be frightened and disappear.

Erin kept washing the board. Its shiny surface had already dulled. Erin was not sure what to do about the engineer’s reaction. They had not known each other long, but they had several adventures together. Erin thought she had collected data on most of Holtzmann’s moods. Holtzmann flared her nostrils like a bull when she was angry, but her face was stoic now. Furious. Holtzmann touched a little too much and seemed like she was made of rubber when she was happy. Holtzmann’s face turned a little gray when she got bursts of extreme focus, the animated face paused as if she had taken a heavy sedative. Erin was fond of the adorable way she rubbed her eyes when she was tired, like a cartoon character. Erin had even caught a glimpse of Holtzmann in a seductive and romantic mood, her shoulders dancing more smoothly than Erin had ever seen.

This Holtzmann was new and wild, with all of the chaos by none of the charm Holtzmann normally had. She paced, but it was not a simple up and down the floor march. She paced with a primal wildness, swinging from the ceiling bars like vines. Her hands shook, but she climbed up and down the pole anyway, never sliding. The heavy couch groaned in complaint when she jumped on and off its upper edge.  She was sullen one second and full of rage the next. She raved and jumped. Music played for 30 seconds before she slammed it off. She told a joke in her normally friendly voice, then laughed too loud and too long until she sounded like a Disney villain. No matter what Erin said or did, Holtzmann acted unpredictably, so the board was sprayed and dried until it was matte.

_♫ You're gonna be sorry you were ever born. Hey la-dee-la ♫_

Erin wished she could hide the blowtorches. There was comfort in knowing that her spare fire extinguisher was close. Erin spritzed the board again and scrubbed each spot until her arm shook and her shoulder burned.

“I SAID I’D TAKE CARE OF IT, ERIN!” Holtzmann yelled over the latest ear-attacking music.

Erin said something too quietly for Holtzmann to understand.

_♫ 'Cause he's kinda big and he's awful strong. Hey la-dee- ♫_

Holtzmann growled and turned off the song. With her ears ringing from the volume change, she shouted “DAMN IT, ERIN, SPEAK UP."

“I didn’t take it, Holtzmann,” Erin whispered.

When Holtzmann’s boots thumped squeaked on the floor, Erin knew she had jumped up on to the work bench and back down. Holtzmann could shut out a lot of things. Insults were no problem. Violence or assault, Erin guessed with a heavy heart that Holtzmann would moved past too quickly. This was different. She was outplayed in her own place. They tricked her into making what they could not make for themselves. Maybe Mulder and Scully did not know. It did not matter. What mattered was that it was hers and they took it.

Erin did not realize that part of Holtzmann’s anger was that they used Erin to do it. That she had said the equivalent of “Come on, it’s no big deal. You’ll be fine” when Erin was annoying everyone with the agreement. Now Holtzmann wondered what danger Erin had encountered and if she was the reason.

And the radiation converter was not _for_ them. It was her design, it was not perfect yet, but a working design. This was worse than anything that could be done to her body. They took something that was for her family. For Abby, Patty, Erin, and Kevin. Maybe she would send it on somewhere else, but it was not theirs to take. This was a piece of her mind and heart.  

Now, within two hours of Erin had finally saying something about a relationship, Holtzmann had yelled at her. It could be played off like volume was to blame, but they both knew that would be an excuse. She walked over to Erin, regretting how her heavy boots squeaked on the floor. She thought, by the time she reached Erin, she would have to say. There was nothing.

Close to her now, Holtzmann saw how Erin’s arms trembled from the exertion. Holtzmann’s shirt was now bleached by the heavy cleaners. Erin’s hands were pink and dry from the harsh chemicals. She did not have words for why she yelled, but this needed to stop.

“Hey, I need this back,” Holtzmann said, stealing the shirt away from Erin’s hands.

Erin immediately turned toward the bathroom for paper towels. Holtzmann stepped in her way. Erin stopped and eyed exit routes on the floor.

“Erin, it means a lot, that you’re so mad for me, but-”

“For you?” she whispered, incredulously.

“The design?”

“Yeah, I am mad about that,” Erin confirmed.

“But, there’s more? The Scully thing?”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Erin said, her tight throat made it harsh.

“I know,” Holtzmann snapped.

“I just meant that maybe I’m not happy about the place it happened, but I don’t get to be-” Erin shook her head and walked past Holtzmann.

“Be what, Erin?”

“This is what you want to talk about? Not what they took?…And I’m not talking about this as a distraction.”

“Don’t get to be what?”

“Holtzmann,” Erin said with her jaw tight.

“You could be Holtzmann but it would be confusing, don’t you think?”

Holtzmann’s joke fell flat.

“You won’t let me help since they left and then you- act like that.”

“Ok, have credit for your doodles,” Holtzmann sighed irritably. She raged again and headed toward the fireman pole.

Erin caught up and put her arms around Holtzmann’s shoulders, “I want to help.”

“Yeah, yeah, that will help,” Holtzmann said distantly. She grabbed onto the pole with one arm and Erin’s leg with the other.

“GAH! HOLTZ!” Erin clung to her, wrapping her arms and legs around Holtzmann tightly.

Holtzmann’s boots squealed against the pole as she fought to climb down instead of slide. Another time, it would have been fascinating to feel Holtzmann’s muscles against her inner thighs. Erin was terrified, not that they would fall, but for how far away her friend seemed.

Holtzmann’s hands were sweaty, so she pushed up with her legs, growling a little each time. She stepped back onto the second floor. Erin untangled her legs and dropped to the floor.

“Holtz-”

“You’re brilliant, alright? Less than an hour and you figured it out. Thanks.” Holtzmann’s eyes flashed.

“Do you want me to call Abby instead?”

“IT’S GONE! IT’S DONE. HOW WOULD SHE HELP? HOW WOULD YOU?”

“You’re one more yell away from not finding out today.”

Enraged to the brink of madness, Holtzmann challenged Erin. Her remark started strong, then ended in a quiet regret. “YEAH, YOU’LL GO, just like you left Abby.”

Erin gasped and turned away, not quickly enough to hide tears. “I am not going anywhere.”

“Oh, so you’re babysitting now? Is _that_ our problem, Professor?” Holtzmann growled at her.

“Well, now _everyone_ knows what happens where you have the whole floor to yourself.”

“There we go,” Holtzmann smiled dangerously. “Come on. You’re mad at me. Get it out. Stop hiding it.”

Erin shook her head once and sat down at her desk. She got a notebook from her bag and opened it.

As soon as Erin’s hands were clear, Holtzmann slammed the book shut. “Stop hiding, Erin. Say it.”

“Holtzmann-”

Holtzmann turned her unmarked cheek toward Erin. “You wanna hit me too? Make them match? Might have to do it a few-

“No! Holtzmann. No, not ever. How dare you ask me. I’m not gonna do that or yell at you.”

“Of course you aren’t going to yell,” Holtzmann snarled. “Then you’d have to find out that there are people who like you when you’re overtired and your filter is off and you say what you mean. Then you’d have to realize that it’s okay for people not to like you sometimes. Then you could not deflect and pretend it was not what you meant.”

“Stop it, Holtz. You don’t get to have it. I’m not going to yell at you. That won’t help and I want to help,” Erin said softly.

“Get it out, Gilbert. It’s there, I see it.”

“You owe me a new white-board.” Erin opened her notebook again.

Holtzmann laughed like the Disney villain version of herself.

“I couldn’t do it anyway, Holtz. Don't you dare ask me. I can’t and I _won’t_ hurt you like they did.”

“So that’s an MD in psychiatry. Huh. All this time I thought you were a physicist.”

“I am a physicist and your friend.”

“Is that all?” Holtzmann’s eyes flashed.

Erin stared up at her. “You owe me a new white-board.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me? Does it not matter that I pinned her there until she squirmed and then bent her over my bench? Does it not matter that she tried to finish me and I yelled YOUR name? Does that not matter?”

Erin froze. “Why are you telling me that?”

“You know why. You figured out about the radiation converter, surely you’ve figured that out,” Holtzmann roared at her. “What I can’t figure out is why you’d run away from an FBI agent to check on me, but you hide behind your desk now.”

“Would you have waited to rent a car when there were taxis waiting?”

Holtzmann leaned over the desk, making it impossible for Erin to look away. “I’m Holtzmann, I do _crazy_ shit all the time. Not you, Erin. You meet, no _exceed_ , expectations on the goody-goody report card. So, did I make you crazy? Do I make you crazy, Erin?”

“You’re guilty of both.”

“Huh. Guilt. Alright, so why did you move all the cleaner except one?”

“Why did you take a picture of the board?”

“Oh, see, the danger of answering a question with a question is you might get the answer.”

Erin stood up and knocked everything off her desk. Well, she tried, but her hand got stuck on the cords and everything piled up by the edge. She batted everything off. “Ask me again what I don’t get to be.”

Holtzmann shrugged, not surprised at the additional deflection.  “Don’t get to be what, Erin?”

“Jealous,” Erin said, her body and voice shaking.

Holtzmann’s intense posture softened. She was not prepared for the pure truth, without runaround or conditionals.

“Several days of alarms, not one of them acknowledged at the firehouse. A blurred image of particle theory. Two images of a woman in heels and your robe, one of them looked like she was drawing a gun. Single voice moans too quiet to tell if they were pain or pleasure or what. No texts from you since the white-board picture. I don’t know if you’ve seen your phone, but I promised you I’d tell you, because I was so scared and confused and jealous that I used ALL of the helicopter’s barf bags. You know how many that its? It’s A LOT. I lost count. Mulder moseyed along and I know why now and it wasn’t so his partner could get between you and your bench. I would never do that unless you brought me there and that’s why it was all but one cleaner. But I can’t let you do that unless you know why I’ve been hiding behind my desk. You might decide you don’t want to when you know. You should have the data first.”

“Erin-” Holtzmann gasped.

“I’m not done. You wanted me to let it out, so have it.”

Holtzmann nodded briskly.

Erin’s tone betrayed that she had practiced the long string of details. It was more meaningful than an confident off-the-cuff ramble. “In a converted UH-60 Black Hawk with the 2016 T901 Turboshaft engine, piloted by a THU FBI vet and trainee, at approximately 3750 ft altitude, I sent you that promise.  I sobbed in front of a whole bunch of really amused and arrogant FBI agents because I was stuck there and I hoped it was just something that would make Abby really angry - she is going to be pissed, you know - instead of unspeakable sorrow for both of us. I hoped you at least got some of the attention you deserve. FUCK, I was jealous of her. I _am._ She acted so cool, like you didn’t matter. You don’t matter to them. We don’t matter.”

Overwhelmed and unwilling to interrupt Erin again, Holtzmann stepped closer, carefully keeping her boots from squeaking.

“You do to me, Holtzmann. So much that I put on jeans and used ALL of the barf bags on a Black Hawk, then I ran away from an FBI agent in 1979 Checker taxi which the driver bought from his uncle when he was 22. It had the Oldsmobile 350-cu.in. diesel V-8 at first, but when the engine was stolen in 1986, he replaced it with this crazy custom V-12. I didn’t ask about the helicopter or the car because I was scared or jealous. I asked because I promised not to share anything about my time teaching and I wanted to have something for you, like you always have for me.”

Holtzmann gasped. Thousands of question that started with ‘why’ rushed into Holtzmann’s mind, but there was an important one she could not ignore. She stood up and touched Erin’s shaking shoulder. “Erin, I’m going to need to unpack all that, real slow like, see? But…did someone hurt you? That agent?”

“No, he was just strange and weird and not in the good way.”

Holtzmann cracked a small smile.

“There was this other man - nothing like that, oh gross, super GROSS - but he was old and he knew things about me. And just, talked about them like they were nothing. I’m worried now that it was even worse than it seemed. But Holtzmann…Holtz…before, I wasn’t telling you to give me a 'Good Job' sticker for the shapes. Would those pieces mean anything without the background?”

“Oh…damn it…” Holtzmann gasped and sat on the edge of Erin’s desk. She was so caught up in the theft of her design that she forget the theory that made it possible was on the white-board.

“I’m not saying those pieces weren’t important. They are integral, but you’re not alone, Holtzmann,” Erin gasped, tears fell down her cheeks.

“We can figure it out, okay? You and me,” Holtzmann said, rubbing her arm gently.

Holtzmann’s surprised whimper was muffled. Erin’s face was wet with tears and her lips were dry. Her hands on Holtzmann’s cheek and shoulder smelled like bleach. Holtzmann wrapped her arms around the slender waist and Erin melted against her. Goosebumps rushed onto Holtzmann’s skin. There was a whimper in Erin’s voice when Holtzmann helped wet her lips, quickly capturing and releasing each one between her own. Holtzmann flattened her hands on Erin’s back to hold her without trapping. It was already hard to breathe. Holtzmann had never pictured Erin in a skirt with jeans when she dreamed. Or that they would be hurt by someone else and be harsh with each other. When Erin's lips were free of the dryness, the kiss deepened, mouths opened wider, holding each other tighter.

Holtzmann’s boots, painter’s overalls, and cropped shirt had been in Erin’s dreams. She was glad there was no active blowtorch. Erin wanted to move her hand to Holtzmann’s bare waist. Her chest ached as Holtzmann’s every move surprised her. Holtzmann’s lips pressed against hers in a careful firm way that held back nothing. True and vibrant, like Holtzmann always was. Erin wanted to ask Holtzmann to walk her home, but there was something she had to do first.

They both heard Kevin coming. There was a pause, then the kiss became as intense as it could without tongue, pressing hard and breathing fast. Erin tilted her head further, catching Holtzmann’s lips between hers, then letting Holtzmann drive again.

 _Kevin,_ they both thought irritably as he neared the door.

Kevin thundered back down the stairs. He was simply running them, like Rocky.

Holtzmann groaned softly when Erin broke away even though Kevin did not open the door. “Erin,” she pleaded, not sure what else to say.

“If you still want to after you hear, then…then there are lots more.”

Erin was embarrassed by her wording, but Holtzmann was relieved by it. She smiled and held Erin close.

“I could get it ready now. Walk me home, Holtzmann?”

Holtzmann had been dreaming that question for months. “Are you sure you’re not a dream?” she blurted out, grimacing immediately afterward.

“Hm,” Erin pondered for a moment. “How would I prove it?”

“Something I wouldn’t expect?”

This time Holtzmann was fascinated by Erin’s face as she made calculations. It was brief, but the anticipation meant that her proof made Holtzmann jump.

“Hey!” Holtzmann said, holding her side where Erin pinched her bare waist.

“Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Holtzmann laughed for the first time since Mulder and Scully showed up.

“It’s not a…thing…so don’t worry.”

“Well, _that’s_ skipping forward,” Holtzmann propped her mouth open with her tongue on her back teeth, a delighted smile still visible.

Erin sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

“It’s not a thing for me either. Receiving at least.”

Erin’s eyes opened wide.

Holtzmann smiled, the one that meant she got out of more trouble than she got into. The one that made Erin’s heart flutter. The one with deep dimples, full of mischief and energy, “Come on, cupcake. I’ll walk you home.”


	13. Hang Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday afternoon
> 
> This time, Erin is the one constantly surprising Holtzmann. This time, Holtzmann is the one with the plans. And this time, Holtzmann gets data for her untested theory. There is more to Erin Gilbert than she will allow others to see. 
> 
> [Message from your Conductor: To continue forward to Holtzbert, we have to go through some bumpy sentimental territory. Hang on and hang tight.]

Holtzmann drummed on her workbench. From what Erin said, it should be a simple transfer from tape to mp3. It needed to be rescued from an old player, but that would be trivial. The rucksack was stuffed full of tools she would not need, but Holtzmann did not want to get to Erin’s apartment and then leave again for a tool. She stuffed her laptop in the back pocket of the sack and looped the straps over one shoulder.

“Ready.”

“I’m glad one of us is,” Erin breathed.

Holtzmann offered her arm and Erin shied away.

“Mademoiselle, you asked me to escort you home,” Holtzmann fluttered her eyelashes at Erin.

Erin’s movements were stiff and jerky. She accepted the offer and they walked down the stairs together.

“Erin, your face looks strange,” Kevin squinted at her.

“Kev-” Holtzmann started.

“Like a ghost!” he said with a big cheerful grin.

“Thanks,” Erin said without looking at him.

Holtzmann opened the door and saw an odd look on Kevin’s face. It was the same one he had when Scully breezed past him without acknowledging his male-model good looks.

_Huh. That’s new._

—

Abby had once surprised Holtzmann by bringing Erin along to a visit at her apartment above the shop. Her stomach flipped and flopped the entire time. She was certain Erin would not like the constant state of reorganizing or the cluttered shelves or the projects scattered on every surface. Erin had only commented on the projects.

This was her first time inside Erin’s place. Holtzmann leaned against the wall in the clean, neat galley kitchen. Erin had been gone for a week, so it held little more than condiments.

Every time another box appeared from the narrow hall closet, Holtzmann had to stop herself from asking to help. The closet held three types of boxes in a tight grid, chosen to maximize storage capacity in the small closet. Erin stood on her toes and reached for the top box in the back corner. Even though Holtzmann was shorter, it was difficult for her not to rush in to help. Erin brushed the dust off the top of the box. She stared at it for a moment, then carried it to the living room.

“Holtz, would you mind stacking those better?” Erin asked from the other room.

“No problem. Is there an order they go in or-?”

“Yeah, but it’ll need to come back out anyway.” After a pause, Erin quietly added, “Thanks for asking.”

Whether or not Erin meant to do it, the request and the physical activity made her feel better. Holtzmann managed to put all the boxes in the closet neatly enough to close the door, but the stacks would probably make Erin’s skin crawl.

Erin made an apology about a bathroom break as Holtzmann closed the closet door. It was a mercy, because Holtzmann gasped when she saw the living room.

The ceiling was covered in painted tin tiles Two walls were completely covered by floor to ceiling shelves. The books were neat, but they competed for space and were shelved two deep in some places. The few pieces of furniture were simple and high quality. There were antique tables, including an enormous draft table. The rest were reproductions of early-last-century. The chairs and chaise lounge were lost in the shadow of a grand leather couch that put the one in the firehouse to shame. There were several folded blankets and pillows scattered around the room. The floor had genuine, well-loved wood planks, maybe installed in the 1920s.

Those details were not the reason for the gasp. One of the empty walls was painted shiny white, the other one in matte gray. There was a ladder on a track that went all the way around the room. It explained the writing near the ceiling. The chalkboard side had early notes of equations and diagrams. The whiteboard side had tighter handwriting and straight lines separating the sections. All of the notes were new to Holtzmann, but she could trace some of them to bits of conversations with Erin and Abby. It was like stepping into Erin’s thoughts right before she spoke.

“Beautiful,” Holtzmann whispered.

Holtzmann spied a projector in the back corner and speakers that explained the lack of a screen. There were plain white panels stacked on each end of the walls. They would fit in perfect dovetails and make a seamless surface for the projector. The small tracks in the floor and ceiling were wired for remote control. Holtzmann suddenly felt irrationally jealous of whoever set it up. It was simple and well done, it would move quickly if Erin had company. The bearings would be quiet and fast, much faster than they needed to be for a screen. A glance between the panels revealed framed pictures. The tracks moved automatically, but only to close. It was more than a cover. It was a mask.

“Erin,” Holtzmann’s throat tightened.

“Yeah?” Erin said behind her.

“Why do you hide this? It’s magnificent.”

“For now, can I just say I don’t want to explain to everyone? Ask again later, if you still-” Erin choked up.

Holtzmann could not imagine Erin doing anything that would make her want to walk away completely, so she did not try.

—

Holtzmann sat next to Erin on the most comfortable couch she had ever encountered. Erin’s hands shook as she removed the lid from the box on the heavy coffee table.

There was an old phone with a tape answering machine on top. It was sealed in plastic with a few spent silica packets. This was not expected, but the extra tools in the rucksack she could take care of it here. Erin gasped in a breath and handed it to her. Holtzmann caught a glimpse of a deflated basketball before Erin closed the box.

 _‘Ask Erin about basketball.’ Not a troll, but maybe still a trollop,_ Holtzmann thought to Scully.

“I don’t really have a workbench. The kitchen table is the foldout kind. Or there's the draft table…”

“Here’s fine,” Holtzmann said. She picked up the box like it was made of blown glass and set it to Erin’s side.

“Ok,” Erin breathed and stood up.

“You aren’t staying?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Erin. Yes.”

“Ok,” Erin said, like she was shocked. She curled up against the arm of the couch and watched Holtzmann unpack her gear.

When Holtzmann pulled out her laptop, Erin gestured with the her foot under the table. “There’s power in a panel under the floor.”

Holtzmann stopped herself from geeking out again. The little panel tucked out of the way when the outlet was in use, but blended seamlessly into the floor, made with an original plank.

The tape was stuck in the machine, but it was not a mechanical accident. Three toothpicks were jammed into the gears. Holtzmann wanted to stop herself from asking, but she did not want it fast enough.

“I couldn’t get it out, but I didn’t want it to turn over and erase the other side,” Erin whispered.

—

Within five minutes, Holtzmann had the tape out of the machine. Within ten, she had the ribbon out of the cassette entirely. She built a small rig for the transfer device that consisted of some K’nex gears, pencils, rubber bands, and a small motor to move the tape at the right speed. When she woke up her laptop, Erin inhaled to ask a question and Holtzmann spoke.

“It will make the transfer to mp3s cleaner. It’s already damaged. Those old rollers would tear it up. It’s going to need help turning, It’ll be better if I play it out loud.”

“Ok. Holtz…thank you,” Erin said, her voice heavy. She looked so small on the couch, her shoulders tight and her face pale. It hurt to leave her alone.

“This is the opposite side. Ready?”

“Yeah,” Erin whispered.

Holtzmann used the side of a pen to straighten out the slightly-crispy and bent tape ribbon. The machine had chewed it up trying to turn over. She started the motor and the program on her laptop. The end of an automated male voice with the time and date played.

 **Message 01:** A young woman’s voice played from the twenty year old recording. It had a touch of New York country twang. It was friendly, cheerful, and relaxed, like a farm girl after a hard day of honest work.

> “Ok so, it’s Bethany-”

Erin gasped and pulled her legs tight against her chest. Holtzmann wanted to ask if she should stop it, but Erin gestured for her to keep going.

> “-Practice cut out early today for some Conference thing. Joze, Dani, and Tarah are gonna come by for stats. Steph isn’t feeling well still, but she says thanks for the physics notes. If you can, I know you’re already busy without all these goofballs, but if you can I could use some help with my physics project. I know they kinda get on your nerves, pretty loud and stuff. But- and this is JOZE’s idea, all on her own. I’m serious-proud - they’re gonna pick up dinner on their way over and it’s not gonna be pizza. Ok bye.”

When the automated male voice started to play again, Holtzmann clicked a button to mark where she would split them into separate files later.

 **Message 02:** A guy who did not say his name told Erin in a polite but painfully awkward way that he did not want another date. He hoped they could still be good lab partners.

The next one made Holtzmann smile, because she knew the older version of the voice.

 **Message 03:** Abby left a short message about signing up for summer lab space and making sure Erin still wanted to share.

 **Message 04:** An obnoxious guy was far from polite about a date where Erin did not seem interested. He wanted to make it clear he was even less interested.

Holtzmann hoped Erin would snort or something, but her face had not changed much. She gripped her jeans to keep her knees tight against her chest.

 **Message 05:** The young woman’s voice was so excited and full of laughter that Holtzmann would not have recognized it.

> “Ok so, it’s Bethany. I know you’re in that crazy night lab, but…just…THANKS! Out of all the people with us, little EeeGee’s the one who punched him. We couldn’t, you know. He’s on the guys-”

> A different voice joined in the background, loud and rambunctious. “WOO! GO EEEGEEEEEEEEE!”

> “Back off Joze or give me a quarter,” Bethany said playfully.

> “BOOOOOOOO,” Joze made a dramatic cry in the background.

> “THE KING HAS SPOKEN!” another voice cackled.

> “That goes for you too, Dani.”

> “BOOOOOOO!” two voices said together.

> “Anyway, it means a lot to Steph ‘cause- He totally didn’t expect you! It was hella cool. You RULE. Ok bye.”

Erin spoke for the first time. “He should have been arrested, not just a junk punch,” she grumbled.

Holtzmann carefully stopped the tape. “Junk punch?”

“Basketball player. Starter on Varsity.”

“What-”

“She wouldn’t want me to talk about it.”

“Got it.” Holtzmann started the tape again. Erin gave her a grateful look, but it did not feel deserved. It was just being decent.

 **Message 06:** A different guy called to say he appreciated that Erin canceled their date instead of brushing him off. He wished her good luck in the lab space draw.

Holtzmann felt sympathy for the guy. He sounded nice and truly disappointed.

 **Message 07:** This one was from a man with a voice that was ready to pump up a whole basketball team at any moment.

> “Miss Gilbert, this is Coach Snider. Joze said you’ve been helping her with stats. I thought she’d be on the bench for sure, but now she’s got a squeaking-by C. With big jumps like that, sometimes I worry my players might be getting too much help, you know, but her teacher says even though her answers are always basketball, they’re dead on now. She’s not the only who mentioned you. Joze is a tough student, she gets there solid, but it’s a stubborn climb. I say that and I get paid to coach her. If you can help that one understand standard deviations, you’ve got a fine talent for teaching. If you ever want to be an official tutor, come see me at the athletics department. You’re welcome at the study table anytime. Coach out.”

**Message 08:** Several weeks later, Bethany’s voice was shy and excited. She stammered a little and spoke slower and quieter than the other messages.

> “Ok so, it’s Bethany…it’s…awesome that you don’t have a roommate. For you I mean…haha. You asked so…yeah of course I do. But…not the night before a game. My run time was way up this morning…so…you probably didn’t want me to say this to the machine…shoot. Well…later, EeeGee…Erin. Ok bye.”

Erin hid her face in her knees.

“That message is something innocent, isn’t it?” Holtzmann said over the automated male voice, certain she had misconstrued it.

“Nope,” Erin said without looking up.

Holtzmann bit her lip to stop a low whistle. Erin did something with a college basketball player and her legs were still shaky the next morning. _The more you know_. Holtzmann made the rainbow swoosh with her hand and started the tape again.

 **Message 09:** Abby was excited about making t-shirts, even though she could not justify going so far from campus before a big test.

 **Message 10:** Bethany’s voice was pumped full of adrenaline and excitement, almost manic. It sounded like a pay phone in a busy place. There was lots of other excited voices behind her.

> “Ok so, you know who it is! Bethany King, B.B. King, whatever! OH MY GOD! THAT WAS THE BEST GAME EVER! TWO OVERTIMES! And I saw you there! I saw you reading at half-time, you big nerd! You have that ginormous test tomorrow and you lugged those goofball headphones here. Did you listen to the play-by-play on the radio or was it a noise thing? I can’t believe you took the fan bus. Erin, it was SO awesome. I’m sorry I couldn’t hang out after. I wanted to. But the team is all like- I’ll make it up to you, ok? I tried to tell them if you hadn’t helped me with the trajectory and vector kind of stuff, we wouldn’t have won. But everyone’s yelling and they don’t get it, you know…I know though. And we’ll do something, alright? Coach says we can pick a night to have off practice next week, kind of a celebration-break thing. Is Tuesday still your not quite-as-crazy night? Let me know tomorrow… ‘Cause I have to say the night I pick and I want to do something with you, if you want. Not studying! I mean like go somewhere maybe? IT WAS SO AWESOME THAT YOU CAME OUT FOR THE GAME!”

> The background noise muffled like a hand shielded the receiver. Bethany’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Were you wearing my number in equations and stuff? ‘Cause it kind of looked like it. I think I recognized one…God, Erin….you don’t know how much that…”

> “Come on, B.B.!” Someone yelled in the background

> “Yeah! The King needs to leave the building!”

> The background noise returned. “GOOD LUCK ON THE EXAM, YOU BIG NERD! Ok bye.”

That was the end of the tape side. Holtzmann worked on changing it over. It was not her business, but she had to ask. “Was it her number?”

Erin's knees popped as she uncurled. Her eyes were pink. Her cheeks were blotchy and wet. She opened the box and pulled out a form-fitting t-shirt in school colors and handed it to Holtzmann. It was a work of art. Covered in equations, matrices, everything except the number that was the answer to all of them. “Thirty-nine.”

Erin nodded and folded the t-shirt. She stared into the box. Moving the shirt had revealed an old 3x5 image. “You want to see a picture?” Erin whispered.

“If it’s ok,” Holtzmann said.

The picture was a happy group shot of five female basketball players and Erin in front of a small table. All of the players had the powerful builds of athletes who trained hard everyday, making Erin look even more slender. The tallest of them looked vaguely familiar. She was wearing a flowery dress, but the rest were in standard tomboy gear. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders, but there were two exceptions that made it easy to identify Bethany. She had a natural tan and dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was a black t-shirt under her open flannel shirt. The camera flash glared off the acid-washed jeans that covered her mile-long legs. She had the genuine, honest, friendly smile of a farm girl. Bethany had one arm around the only person taller than her, the player in the dress with dark skin and a wide unapologetic grin. Her other arm held Erin’s shoulders instead of just resting on them. The shortest player stood on Erin's other side. She had spiky naturally ice-blonde hair. Bethany's arm blocked her arm away from actually touching Erin.

Holtzmann choked up in disbelief as she examined Erin’s posture. Her arm was around Bethany’s waist. Even though the ice-blonde player was next to her and there was a social expectation to return the gesture, Erin only held on to Bethany. Her other hand was wedged in the back pocket of her burgundy straight leg jeans. A familiar but much shinier pair of headphones was hitched on the belt of a denim fanny pack covered in patches. Her heavy cable sweater was bunched up to her elbows. Erin’s anxious personality was still obvious, but there was nothing shy about the way she leaned toward Bethany.

“Erin-”

Erin answered a question that she expected people to ask. “Six foot five. I’m five foot five.”

Holtzmann withheld her real question, which was why Erin did not just wear Bethany’s number. She set the picture down on the table. “The next parts of the tape are chewed up. It’s going to be bits and pieces.”

“Ok,” Erin said in a small voice.

 **Message 12:** A snobby young woman’s voice spat words between garbled noise.

> “-you think you’re anything but their little pet nerd? They’ll-”

> “-a basketball? That is sick. You’re a sick whore.”

> “-out! Dinner and a movie and stuff and you just ignore-”

> “-don’t tell me that little speech was enough. You’re gonna regret-”

> “-good luck climbing trees, bitch.”

“Who the hell is that?” Holtzmann snapped. “What’s her problem?”

“Heather,” Erin grumbled. “I wouldn’t fuck her or do her physics homework.”

Holtzmann froze and stared at Erin, her blue eyes wide. There had been implied activity, sweet and vigorous, that could have been Lifetime-movie-style ‘Bethany-sexual’ but not homosexual. The f-bomb changed things.

Erin uncurled enough to see Holtzmann’s face. She cowered away. “Sorry, that wasn’t the best way to-”

“So, Bethany was not your- nevermind Erin, that’s not my-”

“Not my first,” Erin’s tone implied she was not second or third either. “First one I, um, kissed.”

“Oh,” Holtzmann’s brain whirled around like an unbalanced carnival ride.

“Or kissed me,” Erin added.

Holtzmann’s already challenged filters had signed off for the day. “Only?”

“For both. Yeah.”

“You? For…always?”

“They’ve all been jerks since, Holtz.”

Holtzmann was not sure what Erin would think of her own. Now was not a good time, but those filters were gone. “More than one for me. Lots more.”

“Holtz…as long as you’re okay. I wasn’t trying to sound like a saint. People just weren’t being careful enough.”

_Move on, Holtzmann. You could still screw this up._

**Message 13:** After another garbled noise, Holtzmann got the tape to a message in-progress. The voice was similar to Erin’s, but not identical. It had to be Erin’s mother.

> “…and honestly, sweetie, we’re glad you’re not dating…well…a big meanie - or meanie-ette - like you have been. You said you aren’t ‘dating’, but, Erin come on. You’re going to basketball games.”

> There was a laugh, much like Erin’s, but not as nervous.

> “Sounds like she works hard, like you do. She’s welcome here anytime, we’d love to meet her. Thanks again for coming down to tell us. Yes, it’s ‘strange’, but we are so glad you’re past all that ‘ghost’ stuff! Studying real science, making new friends, a big sweetheart on your side, it’s great! Talk later, pumpkin. Love you!” .

“Ghost stuff,” Holtzmann said quietly.

Erin shifted in her spot.

 **Message 14:** A few weeks later, Bethany sounded weighed down by anxiety.

> “Ok so, it’s Bethany. I haven’t had to leave a message for a while…that’s been nice…so…um…so yeah, I saw it. And I had to tell coach, right away. If he found out another way - I’m sorry we couldn’t talk first, but you’ve got that conference thing and you won’t be back before the game. BUT! Coach said it’s not a huge deal, you know. It’s college…things happen. It’s not like it was on the big screen at a game. And it’s just…kissing, nothing else. Kinda blurry too and well, we are wearing clothes you know. Ha…but he said…look, I’ll tell you later. But nothing’s ruined, ok? It’s not the end of the world or this…thing….whatever. Ok bye.”

There were a few short messages from the library about book holds, from the physics labs, from classmates, and from other players with homework questions. Holtzmann and Erin zoned out while those played.

 **Message 22:** Bethany was upset. She seemed unfamiliar with the intensity of her emotions and on the verge of hyperventilating.

> “Ok so, Erin….COACH was cool with it, but that jerk that jerky JERK-OFF JERK - I shouldn’t have said that. But you know how that new assistant coach hates my guts for no reason? He took it. He took the picture from coach’s desk and sent it to DAD. And I didn’t know until I got home. That jerk sent it right before he knew I’d be going home. I just…I have never seen Dad so angry and-”

The message cut off with a solid click. Erin trembled in her spot on the couch.

“Erin?”

“Just keep going,” she sobbed.

 **Message 23:** Bethany was still upset, but her breathing was under control.

> “Ok so, I know you’re in a big exam. I guess I needed to hear your voice, even though you sound so prissy on it. Dad’s been yelling. Mom won’t talk. They sent my little brothers to my aunt’s and won’t let me see them. They keep asking me what you are. Like if it was a stupid drunk thing. I told them you were my friend and Mom could tell there was more and she said it to Dad like I wasn’t there. God I don’t know, Erin. I don’t know why it has to Something and just…and I tried and I did a bad job to give your little speech about labels - that one you gave when Joze was all confused about variables. You said things and numbers we don’t know or can’t know have a label. The label means nothing, it could be anything, letters or symbols. It can’t tell you the whole proof, you have to look for it. The value is the unknown. Its place is known though. Even in the hardest science, you said, people are uncomfortable if they can’t write it down real quick. But labels helps us start to understand and…I got it wrong. You were kinda talking like _at_ me, weren’t you? I didn’t get the whole thing ‘til just now…see, Erin? It’s like I said. I just play ball and I do ok, but you- you’re gonna do- you’re already- you’re gonna be even more amazing. But…I’m not gonna lie and say it was a mistake. I know you told your folks, so don’t you dare tell me it’s ok to lie again. You’re not a mistake…you’re the best…ok bye.”

The tape was incredibly fragile in this section. Holtzmann needed to guide it by hand, but she desperately wanted to hold Erin. The tape was past halfway. She could not figure out why Erin thought this was something bad about her. Asking Holtzmann to listen to it was stranger than the rest.

 **Message 24:** Bethany sounded calm and tired. Her voice was scratchy, maybe from crying hard, as Erin was on the couch.

> “Ok so, this is my last bit of change. I finally had to yell at Dad that the truck is mine to get the keys back. I’ve never done that before. I feel really bad about yelling. It’s been a long week, but I’m gonna come back to campus. I know you’re gonna be mad I didn’t camp out first, but everyone here would want to know why I didn’t go home. I couldn’t sleep there for sure. Mom is like…still sobbing. And my brothers called and wanted to know when they could see me. Dad hung up on them. Ok so, I know you’ll be worrying. So you just sit pretty with your books and I’ll come straight there, alright EeeGee? Can we talk about this, please, hike or go downtown or something? I need to, ok? I know you’ll listen. Even if you say you want a full stop after this…hey…but if you don’t want to …wear my number next game, just like, a three and a nine, if you want…Ok bye, Erin.”

There was family drama, but it sounded like progress. Erin was crying harder, no longer just silent tears. Maybe she regretted breaking up with Bethany. It was all Holtzmann could think of that might make her mad.

 **Message 25:** The next message was from the slightly husky voice of a tall woman after a long night of drinking.

> “Heya EeeGee, it’s Joze. No call, but when she goes back to the farm she stays the whole weekend working. I don’t know why, they never come up for a game, but-”

The next part was odd to hear for Holtzmann. Younger Erin picked up the receiver and the answering machine kept recording. Younger Erin was frazzled, her voice tight with worry. Holtzmann finally realized that she had been listening to a ghost on a recording. One that had haunted Erin for two decades.

> “Joze, not a word?”

> “Oh hey. Plans change, you know. Let it ride, EeeGee.”

> “It’s not like her, Joze. It’s not. If she changes plans, she says something. Every time.”

> “Yeah…yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll call, ok? But…if you haven’t figured it out, which…heh…I think you really have…she’s a big girl. She can handle it.”

> “Gaaah…it’s not that, Joze. She was upset and tired. I’m worried.”

> “EeeGee, you’re ALWAYS worried.”

> Young Erin choked up. “Well, it’s different this time, alright?”

> “Hey. Hey-hey-hey, Lil’ EeeGee…I didn’t mean to- I’ll call, I will. I’ll drink coffee and everything, alright? You call me?”

> “Yeah. Thanks, Joze.” 

> “Joze out.”

**Message 26:** The next morning, there was a message in an authoritative voice from what sounded like a large man .

> “Do not call this house again. Haven’t you done enough to damage her reputation? I will not tell her you called. I am relieved that she has not contacted you. She left upset and rebellious, but she clearly decided to listen to reason. Follow her example. Take the opportunity to reform yourself. Either way, stay away from Bethany. “

**Message 27:** The follow afternoon, the same male voice roared in anger.

> “DON’T YOU DARE COME ANYWHERE NEAR MY FAMILY. Haven’t you done enough, little freak? She would not have gone driving so late before you. She knew better before you messed with her. She’s GONE because of YOU, pervert.”

The tape was almost out. Erin was curled into such a tight ball that it hurt Holtzmann’s back to look at her.

 **Message 28:** Abby’s voice was quiet and gentle.

> “Hey…Erin…come stay here for a while, alright? My roomie is hardly ever here. Don’t sit alone. Come here and study. You can have the _whole_ kitchen table. The whole thing. I promise. Come on over.”

**Message 29:** The same angry man roared again, a couple days later.

> “I have your address. It's on the north side of campus. She would not have been on that exit if it weren’t for you, would she? Do not call or write my family again. I will get a restraining order and you won’t go anywhere from here. You get it? Disappear. If you come to the funeral, you will be lucky if I call the police.

**Message 30:** A few days later, Joze called. Her words were slow and tired.

> “Hi Erin. It’s Joze. Yeah….so you’re right, it’s good to do something for the B.B. King, for Bethany. We did something as a team already so…yeah…you do that. Bye.”

Erin’s posture shifted and somehow Holtzmann knew to stop the tape. Holtzmann wanted to grab her, but Erin was still guarded. She sat next to Erin on the couch.

“Did he ever hurt you? Her dad?”

“No. The rest of the tape is him though.”


	14. Always You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday afternoon, Erin's apartment
> 
> After sharing the sad tale about Bethany, Erin reveals the true reason for holding out on Holtzmann. 
> 
> Why wouldn't Holtzmann have a bouncy ball?
> 
> Next stop: Holtzbert (and Erin's bedroom)

“Erin, you were part of the equation, but this wasn’t your fault,” Holtzmann said in a firm, quiet voice. “It was a series of events. You were part of it, a variable. You can’t blame a number for being where it is. She knew you’d be upset, but she chose-”

“I know.”

Holtzmann had lost track of how many times Erin had startled her in the past few hours. “Erin, then…why?”

“This happened because of me. It wasn’t my fault, but it was because of me. And so, I stopped. I gave away my Bikini Kill and Indigo Girls tapes. I moved to the other side of campus. I left everything but Abby behind. Just a phase, Mom was happier about it, more than that message made it sound. I mean, I do like men too but not…not as much. I dated the first guy who asked. I put it away, like this.” Erin pushed a button the side of the couch. The white panels unfolded and covered the walls in less than a breath.

“Erin, your heart was broken. It’s ok,” Holtzmann tried to soothe her.

“No, it isn’t. Not to be with you.”

“Hey, Doctor Gilbert, don’t I get a say?”

“See! You’re so - you’re so honest, all the time. You’re always…you. I love it,” Erin’s fist shook against her mouth. “But I’m not. I left this behind, I left metaphysics behind when people made fun of me. I-.

“You didn’t leave all of it. Those girls left you out. They didn’t call again, did they?”

“I guess it was just stats and physics and being Bethany’s whatever.”

“Why wouldn’t you say girlfriend? Didn’t think it would last or what?”

“It wouldn’t have, she wanted a farm and I- but anyway…she didn’t want to,” Erin whispered.

 _Oh, baby._ Holtzmann could not take it any more. She wrapped an arm around Erin’s tense shoulders. “That’s why you made the equations for her number? You would have worn it.”

“Yeah.”

“Erin, statistically, I will lose you first, whether or not you kiss me again. You think you'll get rid of me if you don't? I'll be here, not kissing you. Like I have been.”

Erin choked up. Holtzmann had guessed another facet of the issue right, but Erin stepped backward in their conversation.

“You’re right. Leaving it all would have been honest. I lied about it and hid, which is even worse. I’ve been hiding behind more than a desk for two decades, Holtzmann.”

“Do you want to stay there?”

“No, but-”

Holtzmann sprang up. With a small grunt, she uncovered the walls, folding the panels accordion style. She stood in front of the exposed chalkboard and whiteboard. “Close them.”

“What?”

“The panels.”

Erin watched her, emotionally drained and confused. Erin hit the button on the side of the couch. Holtzmann watched the fake walls hide the beautiful equations and notes. She knew the bearings better this time and folded the panels without a grunt.

“Holtz-”

“Do it again.”

“Ok,” Erin breathed and pushed the button.

This time, Holtzmann planted a heavy boot in the track in front of the whiteboard. The panel moved forward with more force than she expected. The top angled forward when the bottom caught on her boot. She grabbed the upper part, met Erin’s eyes, and held it steady until the opposite panel covered the chalkboard. Half of the whiteboard was still exposed, the panels easy to see. She reset both of them, then got in the way of the chalkboard.

“Close them.”

The tremor in Erin’s hands made it hard to find the button.

Holtzmann repeated her actions in front of the chalkboard.

“But you need both pieces to work, so come help me.”

Erin walked numbly toward Holtzmann, too drained to argue. She took a spot with the opposite board. Holtzmann rummaged in her pocket and retrieved a bouncy ball . She squinted and started to aim at the button, holding it like a dart. Erin held out a shaky hand for it.

Holtzmann started to make a quip about no bouncing balls in the house, but the whole day was too heavy for it. The panels needed to close again with Erin there to make her point, but now the ball was in Erin’s possession. Before Holtzmann devised another way, a ball hit the floor and then a graceful hand.

Chills ran up Holtzmann’s back as Erin threw the ball and caught it. There was something easy about it, like Erin had done it every day for years. Her hand knew exactly how to move. Erin held her palm out flat and wrapped her fingers around it before it left. She repeated several times, bouncing it at slightly higher and lower heights.

“Velocity and acceleration,” Erin said under her breath.

She bounced the ball again. The flat of her right palm was angled away from the ground. It bounced off her hand, hit the ground, then landed squarely in her waiting left hand. “Force and trajectory.”

Again, the ball left Erin’s hand, but this time she flicked her wrist hard. It bounced off the wood floor, then bounced exactly between Holtzmann’s boots and passed between her legs. It hit the pile of panels behind Holtzmann, the bare edge of a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, then rocketed into Erin’s waiting hand. “Impact, velocity and spin reversal.”

Despite the weight of the day, Holtzmann was still Holtzmann. “Do it again,” she grinned, jumping once in her heavy boots and coming down with a soft stomp.

“Don’t move.” Erin bounced the ball a couple times, then flicked her wrist. It followed the same path as before, floor-boots-panels-shelf-hand.

Holtzmann’s grin was wide and astonished, She held her forehead with one hand. “Three times?” she grinned.

A tiny hint of a smile cracked the serious expression on Erin’s face. Two bounces, then a flick. Floor-boots-panels-shelf-hand.

“Ha! Something else? Get the ceiling involved this time.”

“The tin part?”

The tiles had looked the same at first, but there were slight differences between old tin tiles and the new ones made with the same design. Holtzmann’s eyes flashed with a friendly challenge. “Both.”

Holtzmann had seen this calculating look before, but this time it was pure number crunching. Erin’s eyes scanned different surfaces of the room. Holtzmann could not calculate vectors on the fly and, until Erin took the ball from her, she would have guessed the same thing about Erin. She definitely would not have guessed Erin could calculate them and then make them happen. She could almost see the diagrams as Erin looked around the room, calculating the angles and loss of force with each impact.

Erin’s hair was a mess. Her eyes were red. Her eyelids were swollen and pink. She was pale and tired. She still wore a skirt over her jeans. With all of that, the next thing she did was the sexiest thing Holtzmann had ever experienced.

“Hold out your hand,” Erin said.

Holtzmann playfully put the back of her hand of her forehead.

Now, Holtzmann was part of the calculation. Erin reevaluated everything. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Holtzmann’s boot and her tennis shoes on the track. Her face started to cloud again. She left her spot and stood close enough to share her body heat with Holtzmann. Erin pressed her palm against Holtzmann’s open hand and changed the angle by less than 10 degrees. It was a light touch, but Holtzmann felt like she was melting into the floor.

“Will it bounce or am I supposed to catch it?” Holtzmann breathed, desperate not to mess it up.

Instead of answering, Erin drew her arm far back and slammed the ball against the floor. It immediately rocketed upward and away toward the tin ceiling on the far end of the room. The tin made a dull tink noise as the small ball impacted part of the embossed design. It hit the flat edge of a bookshelf near the ceiling. It zoomed across the room, hit the wall, then came back to impact the same bookcase, one shelf down. This one had a small plaque hanging off its edge. It made a jangling sound when the ball impacted and stole away a lot of the ball’s speed. It bounced off the toe of Holtzmann’s boot, hit the button for the panels, and barely made it to the ceiling. It touched the ceiling instead of impacting and dropped with little more than the pull of the Earth to Holtzmann’s hand. After a lazy tours on her calloused palm, it came to a stop. It nestled in her palm. no need to grab it.

"Gravity," Erin whispered as the panels began to move.

_**HNNG**. If you don’t want me, Erin, say so, because I need to get out of here if you don’t._

Holtzmann’s boot easily caught the panel, but Erin yelped when it hit her sneaker. It tore up the rubber and trapped her foot. Holtzmann grabbed Erin’s panel and braced it until the motor switched off. Holtzmann pushed it backward while Erin freed her shoe.

“You okay? Did it hurt you?”

“Just a little. Scared me mostly,” Erin whispered.

“Could you do that again?”

“If you can get in the same position, then yes, when that plaque stops wiggling.”

Holtzmann bit back a keening noise. “We would clean up at a carnival.”

It did not get the laugh Holtzmann hoped. Erin muttered something about deceptive practices as she took off her shoes.

“See, Holtz? I haven’t done that in-” Erin curled up on the couch again. “I don’t get it.”

Holtzmann scaled the back of the couch and landed behind Erin with a leg on either side. She wrapped her arms around Erin’s waist and pulled her close. She rested her chin on Erin’s shoulder. “I’m gonna tell you a story. So, I was working with my friend Abby. I think you know her. This professor comes in raving about tenure and expectations and an old book. She was stuck-up about it too. Pretty bad.”

Erin shifted a little.

“She was almost to tenure, after years - and I mean LONG years of kissing up to stuffy old jerks-”

“Thanks, Holtz,” Erin whispered.

“A Columbia professor definitely would not go to an old mansion to investigate a ghost story. This person knew that someone needed to supervise two unruly scientists. Then a spooky old door opened and there was slimy stuff on her shoes. They were ridiculous shoes, but I had a hard time not staring at her legs. She thought critically about the door and slime. The probability of a practical joke from Abby and I is pretty high. Then, and this is the best part, she got slimed by a real ghost-”

“Hey,” Erin said in a quiet grumpy tone.

“It was really gross, especially in all that tweed. As soon as this professor's face was clean, she threw a huge fit and shrieked. She denied everything she saw and didn’t care about the data. She ran and we never saw her again. I heard she got tenure.”

Erin shifted again.

“I know it might sound familiar, but there’s a big difference near the end.”

“Oh yeah?” Erin said, too overwhelmed not to play along

“I didn’t try to be polite about your legs. I even got video of them.”

Erin did not laugh out loud, but Holtzmann could feel her stomach tighten. It felt so good to hold her.

“And there's something else. In the real story, a scientist came to the lab. Being a professor meant so much, but it was always secondary to the science. You got new data and re-evaluated everything. You came back on your own to learn more together. Erin, the panels thing didn’t work how I expected. We couldn’t just step in front of them. You got stuck and a little hurt. We lost one of them, but I could help with yours. That’s probably more accurate. We can figure it out together if you let me help. Will you let me, cupcake?”

“Why do you keep calling me cupcake?” Erin huffed.

“For that, a little.”

“What’s the rest?”

“Maybe it’s not the best time to answer,” Holtzmann whispered, unsure where she found the tiny portion of restraint.

Erin noticed the effort. Instead of interrogating, she brought her legs to the side so she could face Holtzmann. This meant the engineer got to see the lovely expression on Erin’s face when she realized she was squarely in Holtzmann’s lap. 

“My gaydar has been compromised. Did you break it? I mean, I thought you might've been a blip more than curious, but Indigo Girls?"

“I still have my poster from Sleater-Kinney's first tour. They came to campus."

"Sleater-Kinney. Seriously? What box is it in? I need evidence."

"It's not in a box." Erin pointed to a closed door.

“It's in your bedroom?” Holtzmann startled again.

“Sort of. It's, well, it's in the walk-in closet.”

Erin and Holtzmann shared a much-needed laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Holtzmann said quietly.

“Holtz, I’ve said what I need to say. I promised more if you still wanted-”

Holtzmann stole her breath for the next words. She supported Erin’s back with her knee and threaded her fingers through soft auburn hair. Her other hand held Erin’s face. Her mouth pressed against Erin’s, more desperate and nervous than any teenager.

And far, far more skilled. Erin closed her eyes and held onto Holtzmann like she was clinging to the side of a building. Her hands grasped for purchase over and over. It was a kneading version of how her fists clenched and unclenched when she was nervous. Holtzmann slowed down the pace and deepened the kiss, capturing Erin’s lips between her own. The time, she stole away all of the salt with the barest tip of her tongue. Erin gasped.

“I have a question, Doctor Gilbert,” Holtzmann said, her blue eyes locked onto Erin’s.

“Ok,” Erin breathed, her lips already a darker pink.

Holtzmann kissed her again. Erin whimpered when Holtzmann’s tongue made a direct lash into her mouth. Holtzmann’s pulse raced between her legs as the reality of Erin’s soft cry hit her.

“Did you mean for the problem to be open-ended, professor?”

Erin’s eyes were rimmed in pink and now her eyelids looked a little heavy. She furrowed her brow at Holtzmann.

“You promised more kisses. Did you intend to limit the location or range?”

Erin hands grabbed tight, her short nails scratching lightly on Holtzmann’s back.

“Tell me,” Holtzmann breathed. She kissed along the outer edge of Erin’s lips. “I’m starting so late, I don’t want to miss any points.” Holtzmann captured Erin’s bottom lip and thoroughly explored it with her tongue. She danced the tip over Erin’s soft lip, then brushed long precise strokes with the side of her tongue. She flicked madly at the pliant middle. Erin’s hips shifted on her lap. Holtzmann pulled Erin's lip into her mouth with gentle suction, never stopping the bold movement of her tongue.

Erin shuddered. She was lost in the kiss. The reality of being wrapped up in Holtzmann’s arms and lap unbalanced her. Holtzmann’s words and tongue made her want to writhe, but she did not find any words to give. Erin let her head fall back into Holtzmann’s hand.

“Professor,” Holtzmann prompted with a breath that cooled Erin’s wet lips.

“As written,” Erin breathed.

Holtzmann parted Erin’s lips with her tongue and leaned into the kiss. For once, she was the one with plans. Her hand left its place to flip over the picture of Erin’s tall college sweetheart. Bethany seemed like a nice girl. She probably should not see all the things Holtzmann had planned for Erin.


	15. As Written [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday evening, Erin's apartment
> 
> As written, but not as planned. 
> 
> After all the ache cause by waking alone from vivid dreams of Erin, Holtzmann needs solid proof of reality. She finds herself doing the unthinkable: asking to be touched first. 
> 
> Maybe they'll make it to the bedroom next time.

Erin sat on one of Holtzmann’s legs and laid back against the other. Her long legs stretched out in straight lines from her body. Her toes were pointed and her hips shifted. After the months of anguish over Holtzmann’s dimples and the years of quiet seclusion, she could only react. She had already surrendered. Somehow, words got from her ear to her brain. Holtzmann wanted an answer. She managed to say, “As written” and Holtzmann traced approval onto Erin’s tongue with her own.

Erin had never been cool. She had always reacted a little too much. A quiet moan escaped her throat as Holtzmann flicked playfully at her tongue. This time, Erin’s dramatic reaction was welcomed and relished. The engineer’s strong hand shifted to hold her waist in a firm, warm grip.

Cool or not, Erin had always been a quick study. She knew the movement in her mouth was a gesture of encouragement. Her arms crossed behind Holtzmann’s neck. Erin’s first active move lifted her back away from Holtzmann’s leg so she could press into the kiss. It had been so long since she wanted to kiss anyone, but now she could not bear the thought of this kiss ending.

The professor’s kiss was nervous. It had been passive and permissive. Now, Erin was still nervous, but she was not shy. Her tongue traced the join of their lips with a soft touch. Holtzmann’s own tongue paused, too curious about Erin’s plan to interrupt. The next trace was firm and playful. The tip of her tongue worked its way between their lips, then pressed them back together. She gave each section of the join this treatment, ending each part with a soft stroke of approval, like together is where they should be.

Holtzmann pulse raced. She readjusted her grip on Erin’s slender waist. Aching to take Erin’s mouth again, Holtzmann was captivated by how much this felt like magic. Begging Erin to touch her and taste her would be premature. Erin had not even ventured into her mouth yet. Good timing or not, the pleas were already close to the surface. This was so unexpected and dreamlike that she needed to feel more. Needed to taste, to growl and hear Erin’s surrender. Holtzmann could be patient another day. She dashed into Erin’s mouth to coax the older scientist into a duel.

Both scientists gasped as their tongues met in the middle and entwined. They danced in waves and lines that would have been too explicit to graph.

Erin’s fingers kneaded the strong muscle between Holtzmann’s neck and shoulders. It meant Erin remembered that day she worked on Holtzmann’s back. She did it to bribe Holtzmann into take a break to eat. The low moan that escaped when Erin’s thumbs dug skillfully right there had paused everything. Patty laughed and made a comment about the scientist’s hands being good for more than just research. It was nice of Patty to try, but it had only made things-

_Nooo. No no no._

_It does means this is real but-_

_Already? How?_

“Are you okay?” Erin whispered.

“If you hadn’t stopped, you could’ve had me at hello,” Holtzmann said, embarrassed.

“I don’t- oh,” Erin said, startled. “You can…from just this? Were you joking about it taking a while when we went to the beach?”

“You remember? Wait, of course you do. It usually takes forever or doesn’t work or-”

“Sorry, that wasn’t very-”

Holtzmann held Erin’s face in one hand and wrapped her arm around Erin’s waist. She pressed her forehead against Erin’s and spoke. It was not smooth or clever. It was more like a growl or a sob than words. “ _ **Erin, I want you. I need you.**_ It aches. No, it **_hurts and burns and freezes_**. I wake up in the middle of the night throbbing with your name on my tongue. I wouldn’t do it this way but there were so many dreams, Erin. So many. I want you so bad. This is the first time I’ve ever- I haven’t done anything for you, but I _**will**_ , Erin, I _**will**_ -.”

“I- Holtzmann-” Erin gasped.

“Damn it, I’m sorry,” Holtzmann grimaced. “Way to fuck things up again with your big mouth, Holtzmann.”

“Whoa, Holtzy.”

“I said that out loud too. Smooth. Real cool.”

Erin felt Holtzmann’s brow furrow against hers. “Let me say what I was going to, ok?”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a painfully quiet voice. “Go on, please.”

“We haven’t done - or talked about- well- I'd love to. I know you joked about the professor thing but- don’t be shy about correcting my work, ok? I think I’m pretty average with all that, but- **Holtz, I want to**.  I just don’t know how you want to be touched and I don't want to mess-”

Holtzmann broke her short silence. She groaned and overtook Erin’s mouth in a deep kiss.  The pressure was pleasant and would not bruise their lips, but the force would make them tender. After she unclasped the straps of her overalls, Erin helped her move them out of the way. She shifted and stretched out on the couch, bringing Erin to lay next to her.

—

Holtzmann had spent many hours recovering from dreams about Erin. She already wasted time tonight on the subject, trying to figure out from Erin’s behavior if it was real or not. That had been a foolish strategy all along. There was a clear delineation here and it was not Erin’s sad story. It was not Erin’s amazing bouncy ball maneuvers. It was her own behavior. Holtzmann never would have dreamed of asking Erin to do anything for her at all, let alone first, before their clothes were off. Before their kisses could still numbered in single digits. They were still in the living room.

The professor wisely put a blanket between them and the leather couch. Erin’s knowledge was a glorious surprise. Many things Holtzmann thought she might have to teach or worse yet, talk about, were already in Erin’s calculations.

Erin snuggled against Holtzmann’s side. Her graceful hand laid on the sculpted bare belly, her fingers exploring the tone without tickling. She sighed happily into their slower kiss when Holtzmann put an arm around her. Holtzmann’s belly tensed when her hand started moving upward.

_Baby, I don’t want to be reminded of-_

“Not here?” Erin whispered. “For now or-?”

“For now, talk more later?”

In answer, Erin kissed her and slowly moved her hand back down. It was like nothing had changed. She paused at the thick waistband under the loose overalls. Holtzmann was not certain if she could give encouragement. It was strange to ask once.

“Um…it would really bother me to be- well, to be wearing something,” Erin whispered.  

That meant only one thing. It was a sign Erin was extremely sensitive. This night kept getting harder to believe. “I don’t mind, but- here.”

Erin gasped as Holtzmann somehow pulled off her overalls, underwear, and socks with one hand in one smooth motion. It left the engineer in only a crop top and sports bra. She knew Holtzmann was athletic under the baggy clothes, but Erin was not prepared for this. Perfectly pale skin covered gorgeous curves and sleek muscle. Under all of Holtzmann’s odd wardrobe choices, there was a figure that would make many women howl in jealous rage. She felt proud, not jealous, that this brilliant and gorgeous woman wanted her touch. Of course, that was not the only reason she forgot to breathe. Other women had been naked around her over the years, but not one who wanted her. This one showed it with short dark blonde curls and pale pink skin that shined.

This was a reaction that Holtzmann knew how to manage. “Would this bother you?” Holtzmann asked in a curious tone and tugged at Erin’s camisole.

Still distracted, Erin said, “The cami? Yeah, but what about the skirt and jeans?”

“That’s up to you, doc.”

Erin tore her eyes away Holtzmann’s impressively muscular upper thighs. She found the bright blue eyes wide and sparkling. They shared a giggle and Erin hide her face, embarrassed. Holtzmann caught one of Erin’s blushing cheeks and kissed her again. It was playful at first, but turned heated as soon as Erin’s hand moved again.

“I’d offer to even it up, but you don’t want that.”

“What?!” Holtzmann said, outraged.

Erin laid down to whisper, “Wouldn't work out so well. I don’t wear padded bras to fill out shirts.”

Holtzmann groaned, close to regretting her request. If Erin was next to her without a shirt, she would not be able to resist touching and testing. As soon as the groan ended, there were soft fingertips inside Holtzmann’s right hip. Erin traced the veins that showed through smooth skin that looked like it had never seen the sun. It grounded Holtzmann and brought back a string of memories where she watched the professor trace the lines of diagrams. More small memories joined: Erin’s careful handwriting, how smoothly she drew lines to separate her notebook pages, how her fingers flew over the keyboard, and how quickly they learned new devices.

Erin’s hand trembled when she first touched the dark blonde curls. They playfully snagged around her fingers as she started exploring.

“Erin, it’s been a while- I mean, if you didn’t want to, you’d say no. Right?” Holtzmann said in a worried rush.

Erin attacked Holtzmann’s mouth with a quick, intense kiss. When she spoke, it tickled the sensitive skin around Holtzmann’s ear. It was a notch or two lower than normal.  “I would, but Holtzmann, I asked you to tell me if you didn’t like something.”

“It’s ok, Erin. Take your time.”

“OK is _**not**_ acceptable. If you don't like waiting, say so,” Erin said with more force than she had used in several hours. Her fingers kneaded into the only dry skin between Holtzmann’s legs.

Holtzmann gasped.

"It feels like you've waited long enough already, Holtzy," she whispered against the blonde's pale neck. "Let me help make it real."

Holtzmann keened, fighting to keep her hips down on the couch. “A little lower.”

“A little?" Erin said, with the tiniest hint of 'disapproving teacher' in her tone. "Holtzmann, you know I can be more precise than that. Tell me the number.”

Holtzmann’s arm tightened around Erin as she fought to keep her hips from rising. “0.6 cm on the left, 0.4 on the right.”

Erin lovingly kissed Holtzmann’s neck. She adjusted her fingers perfectly and started kneading.

Erin's touch made Holtzmann’s more sensitive skin beg for attention. She wanted to shift her hips to change the focus, but this was a way Erin knew how to touch. She wanted to know all of them. Collect them, maybe make each of them a patch or a hat. It was amazing, not too soft. Firm and deliberate. It felt too good to rush away. It was probably a preview of much longer spans of attention, careful and infuriating lead-up, like the long hours of planning and work before finally flipping the switch on a new device.

Erin looked down at her hand between Holtzmann’s legs in awe. She had been so certain Holtzmann would realize the truth about her and leave. From Holtzmann’s earlier kisses, she guessed that the blonde usually lead things. Even though they had not been lovers, she felt how special it was for Holtzmann to ask. Her hand trembled a little, but she was surprised that she was not a nervous mess. An amazing, brilliant woman wanted her touch. Where she had imagined herself to be overwhelmed, Erin felt more comfortable than she had since undergrad. Holtzmann was the one to thank for it. Erin did not have a plan, but tonight, she did not need one. She had muscle memory and knowledge. And, because the genius engineer wanted **her** so much, she had Holtzmann.

Without announcing the change, Erin’s fingers spread into a v- shape and moved down.

“Live long and prosper?” Holtzmann said, a curious tone in her joke.

 “You tell me,” Erin whispered. Her fingers kneaded on the sides. Her palm pressed in at the same time, daring Holtzmann to grind against her. She moved up and down, touching every hidden part of Holtzmann’s clitoris. The professor used every part of her hand conscientiously, including the knuckles in her palm. Her graceful hand worked in steady waves, becoming firmer with each pass. 

“Yeah, at least live long enough for you to do that while you-” Holtzmann grabbed the couch, angry with herself for rushing.

“I want to know, Holtz.”

“It’ll sound bad. I don’t mean to rush any more but- Erin. That feels so good,” Holtzmann finished with a moan.

Part of that overwhelmed feeling found Erin when Holtzmann moaned her name. That, paired with the slick skin under her fingers, made Erin’s heart race. The smell and sight of obvious desire hit her hard. She had a good idea of what Holtzmann was saying. Like no time had passed, she remembered reassuring things to say.

“Holtzmann, you smell amazing. I want to taste. Is it ok?”

Before Erin could respond, Holtzmann grabbed her for another deep appreciate kiss that made Erin whimper. Holtzmann gripped the stretchy material of Erin’s camisole, likely warping forever. “Let me help, baby.” 

“Even better,” Erin smiled. She watched, fascinated, as Holtzmann’s finger dipped between hers. It came back to the light shiny.

“Oh snap,” Holtzmann gasped as Erin took her finger in to taste. She felt a gentle pull of suction and a thorough tongue, all while Erin’s eyes stared into hers. This was another look Holtzmann recognized. It was not calculations. It was research. If her clit was not already swollen and aching, it would have gone from zero to hard instantly.

Erin shifted and pulled up her skirt, her hand paused between Holtzmann’s legs. She shoved her other hand into a pocket and pulled out a hair tie.

Holtzmann grinned at her. “Need a hand?”

“Probably two later.”

Holtzmann blinked surprise. This little comment had truth to it. It felt good that Erin was comfortably enough to joke, but she could tell from the curl of Erin’s shoulders that she needed to do something. Move on. “I can make a ponytail,” she said, as if it was a vast accomplishment.

“With one hand?”

There was something in the little question that lead Holtzmann to focus intently on Erin’s hand. Erin trapped the hair tie between her teeth. She moved her auburn hair to the back. Her other hand rubbed against Holtzmann, sliding on the wet skin. With the tie stretched between her fingers and thumb, she gathered her hair. Holtzmann could not see the back, but a low ponytail appeared on Erin’s head. It was easy to work out how Erin did it. There was no magic trick to it, except for how Erin kept kneading her just right. Erin giggled a little, feeling silly for her show. She brushed her lips against Holtzmann’s for barely a blink before the engineer took over. She got lost in the playful, assertive, chaotic movements of Holtzmann’s mouth.

“Don’t be quiet, OK? Just say it.” Erin said.

“You should be mad at me.”

“Why? What for?”

“None of those dream Erins bothered to ask,” Holtzmann said quietly.

A new kind of mischief sparkled in Erin’s eyes. “I don’t mind proving you wrong.”

Holtzmann chuckled with delight. Erin kissed her forehead then shifted to her other side until her skirt was bunched up against Holtzmann’s waist. There was a moment of unpleasantly cold air until Erin’s other hand took over. She grinned as Holtzmann wrapped an arm around one of her legs.

It felt crass later, but Erin could not help the delighted sigh when she saw this hidden part of Holtzmann up close. The anticipation of kissing her made Erin’s heartbeat pulse between her legs. She was nervous about getting something wrong, but Holtzmann seemed relaxed about it, open to experiments. Erin renewed the Vulcan-style kneading that Holtzmann appreciated and braced herself on Holtzmann’s leg. Erin started to analyze from afar, curves and algorithms. She wanted to explore, touching and testing. Then her breath hit the wet skin in front of her just right and Holtzmann’s hips shifted toward her.

Erin did not bother to tease. She rested her lips against Holtzmann and parted the soft skin with her tongue. She whimpered when she tasted Holtzmann directly. It had been guilty fantasies for two decades. Now, there was a gorgeous genius under her tongue, wanting her. The strangest, most lovable person Erin could fathom. Her taste was as intense as she was and made Erin press her own thighs together. Without planning it, Erin made a wordless sound of praise, as if she was the best thing Erin had ever tasted.

Because she was. Within a moment, Erin was addicted. She wanted more, all and everything Holtzmann would share with her. Erin's soft noise turned into a joyous moan when she explored the swollen skin nestled within the v of her fingers. 

“Erin,” Holtzmann gasped.

 _Come on, Holtzy, tell me how._ Erin thought as she made a mental map on Holtzmann’s clit and the softness around it. She started stroking with her tongue with enough pressure to push against the heated skin, but not enough to move it. Tiny veins shared the strong beat of Holtzmann's heart. If her new lover was not so needy, Erin would take her time, testing and learning. Holtzmann had done enough waiting, but Erin could happily stay right there through the night and past sunrise. If nothing else, the engineer deserved to be studied thoroughly.

“So good. Harder, baby,” Holtzmann moaned.

Erin made an appreciative noise for Holtzmann's comment, adding vibration to her kiss. Erin was out of practice, but she had plenty of energy to give. She pressed harder and kept her tongue flat so no part of Holtzmann’s clit escaped her attention. Her hand kept up its steady movement. Holtzmann’s nails raked against Erin’s jeans. She kept her maddeningly even pace and strokes until Holtzmann was twitching against her tongue. There were many more things she could do, but it would be good to know if Holtzmann could come like this or Erin would get more instructions.

Holtzmann groaned and started failing to keep her hips still. It felt so good. She was close, so fast, but she could not let go. Not yet. Erin was between her legs, tasting and wanting her. It could not end after a few minutes. But she promised to tell Erin. Promises were important.

_Erin wants me to come for her. In her mouth. Please._

“Erin, suck me, please,” Holtzmann said, as gently as she could. She hoped it did not sound like a demand.

Erin moaned against her, then guided Holtzmann’s clit into her mouth with a firm caress of her tongue. Her body shifted for a better position. She pulled at Holtzmann with a pulsing suction.

Holtzmann keened, her back arched off the couch.

 _Come for me, tiger_ , Erin thought to her long-suffering champion crush. She added encouraging noises and a little more suction. She could do more, but there was no reason to overdo it the first time. Her tongue bathed Holtzmann’s captured clit in affection.

The build was quick, but Holtzmann could not help that her mind wandered away. She could not blame it, because this felt like nothing reality had ever given to her. It was only luck that her thoughts did not go somewhere terrible for the moment. Erin’s pace reminded her of the furious speed of the ball traveling around the room.

Erin was not prepared for the force of Holtzmann’s reaction. Powered by her strong legs, Holtzmann’s hips exploded off the couch. Erin was pushed back and Holtzmann’s hip bone hit her square in the forehead. She fell heavily against the back of the couch, clutching her forehead. In the beginning of a daze, she could not understand why Holtzmann moaned the two syllable word.

“Erin! Are you okay?” Holtzmann said, immediately sitting up and gathering Erin close in her arms.

 “It was impact but…” Erin said, confused.

“Oh…that…we’ll need to talk but- are you alright, baby?” She carefully brushed aside Erin’s hair.

 “Why did you say impact? Like a puzzle or-”

Erin might have a little bruise there, but not enough for a concussion. Holtzmann sagged with relief, then tensed instantly with guilt. She hated it, but Scully was right. She wanted Erin to be with her for more than a night. _Might as well get this-_

“Wait...do you do that too? It's been a long time for me,” Erin said, blinking.

“What?”

“The disconnected thing. Like, it’s really intense on the physical side, so your mind tries to balance it. Like thermodynamics.”

“Uh,” Holtzmann said uselessly, dumbfounded by Erin’s summary.

“Oh, sorry. I probably should have said,” Erin whispered and tensed. "Though I'm not sure when I-

“Cupcake. You are brilliant. Yes. Me too.”

“I’m gonna give you a weird nickname,” Erin said, like Holtzmann should be frightened.

“Really?!” Holtzmann grinned wide, an expression Erin knew well.

Erin giggled, “Well, not much of a threat then. It’s…if the disconnected thing is like mine…that’s a huge compliment the first time.”

“You have no idea how many compliments you'll- wait. First time? That means more times?”

“I was going to try it, but you kinda knocked me out of the saddle.”

“Oh,” Holtzmann said, and backed away. She knew it was too good. Knew she would mess it up somehow.

“Hey, come back, Holtz.”

“I’m sorry, ok?” she said in a quiet voice that broke Erin’s heart.

Before Holtzmann got to her overalls, Erin stepped in the way. “Holtzmann, please listen this time.”

Holtzmann stood awkwardly in her crop top and nothing else.

Erin wrapped her arms around Holtzmann’s neck. She hated how tense Holtzmann was. It felt like she should let go, but it would be better for both of them if she said it without locking eyes. “Holtzmann, I meant that I was going to see if I could get another earthquake out of you, at least an aftershock. Keep you right there, not let you go.”

Holtzmann’s arms wrapped around her. They pulled her so tight that Erin worried about irritating Holtzmann’s skin with her skirt. 

“That bouncy ball thing was really hot,” she whispered.

Erin laughed, her chest fighting for space with Holtzmann. “Thank you for staying,” Erin said in a rush of emotion.

“You really thought I’d go?” Holtzmann said, a little hurt.

“I was really scared you would. It was stupid of me.”

Despite the fact that she was only wearing a cropped shirt, Holtzmann’s tone was serious enough to make up for it. She met Erin’s eyes and said, “Don’t talk about my girl that way.”

“Your- your girl?” Erin whispered.

Her voice was too small to read. Holtzmann worried that she pushed too far. It had to be fixed somehow. “If you want to be.”

“What- what will you-”, Erin choked up and hid her face.

“Your Holtzmann.”

“Really?” Erin said, knowing it was useless question. She collapsed against the shorter, stronger woman with the start of a sob in her chest.

“I’ll even say it wearing flannel if you want.” Holtzmann grimaced. That was too far. Way too far.

“It’s too hot for flannel.”

“You’re not mad at me for saying that?” Holtzmann said, bewildered.

Erin stood up straight and gave Holtzmann a frank look. “I was an undergrad in the early 90s. You think I didn’t have flannel?”

Holtzmann blinked surprise. “I thought it was more of a tomboy thing.”

“When it’s cold enough, I’ll wear some with you.”

Holtzmann adjusted her arms to hold more of Erin. “My girl?”

“If you’ll be my Holtzmann.”

“Can you do that with two bouncy balls?” Holtzmann said, her tone a little distant as she often was with a playful idea.

“That sounds like my Holtzmann. One right after another or interaction?”

“I want both answers!” Holtzmann’s hands moved to Erin’s waist. Her bright blue eyes shined up at Erin.

“First one is easy. The second one - they’d have to be good bouncy balls. Solid construction.”

“Done and done. How’d you learn to do that?”

“Teaching basketball players about physics,” Erin shrugged.

“Wait, you can do that with a basketball?”

“What do you think, Holtzmann? Think your girl can make Rube Goldberg cry with a basketball?”

Holtzmann could not explain what it meant to hear it from Erin. How her chest felt warm, but tingled like the cold. How she felt ten feet tall and also wanted to ride around in Erin’s pocket. She needed a reply, so she thought of what she knew of her girl. “Oh, you betcha. But not in the house.”

Erin grinned, but Holtzmann barely had time to see it before their kiss. Erin’s kisses were new. There were so many to explore. The taste of this one reminded Holtzmann that she was almost naked and Erin was wearing extra clothes.

“Give me a demo sometime? Right now, there’s demonstration I need to give.”

“What’s that?”

“Come with me, Erin. Let me show off how your Holtzmann takes care of her girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Message from your Conductor: Please do share your likes and dislikes. If you are willing to spend time reading my work, I want to do it up right for you.


	16. Flashing Lights [NSFP]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Holtzmann's turn to change dreams into reality.
> 
> It's also strange, and therefore, appropriate timing for a long Holtzmann-feelings-monologue.
> 
> Will the score be even at the end? What is the score?

Holtzmann had planned to whisk her away without delay, but Erin pressed into their embrace. They explored the reactions and interactions of their different kissing styles. Holtzmann’s bold to Erin’s timid. Her playful to Erin’s careful. Her exploration to Erin’s analysis. Willful claiming to joyous acceptance. Puzzling to solving. Fixing to breaking. Chaotic to methodical. Thorough to thorough.  

Sometime in the most mentally-challenging make-out session either had ever experienced, they ended up on the couch. Holtzmann broke from a complex waveform. Her tender lips trailed kisses along Erin’s jaw, then down the graceful neck. Her teeth touched the skin around the straps of Erin’s cami and bra. She tugged them up and then off the narrow sunkissed shoulder. Erin balled Holtzmann’s shirt in tight fists.

“Holtzmann,” Erin gasped against her ear.

She grinned and introduced Erin’s collarbone to her kisses. Then she made her first exploration of the hollow of Erin’s neck, something dreamed about day and night.

Erin shifted. She started and stopped several attempts to say something.

“I’m listening,” Holtzmann breathed against her neck. “You can tell because I am really close. Feel it?”

A line of cool air followed the newly forged trail of kisses. The intense shudder that followed caused Erin to press her body closer.

Holtzmann gave warm kisses in response, her mouth open and her breath hot. Her hands followed the curve of Erin’s back. The professor tensed and tried again to say something.

“What is it, Cupcake?”

Even though she was flustered, Erin managed a small ‘hmph’ at the nickname.

Holtzmann adjusted to look directly at Erin’s face. Their noses touches and her blue eyes demanded full attention. “All of it. Every piece. Down to the wrapper, Erin.”

Erin keened and her hips pressed harder against Holtzmann.

“You want to get away from this leather, baby? All of these clothes?”

The small nod was all she needed. Holtzmann sat up and gathered Erin into her arms. She stood, completely unhindered by the extra weight.

“Wow,” Erin breathed.

Holtzmann walked to the closed door with a proud grin. Erin snuggled against her neck and shoulder.

 

Two and a half walls of the bedroom were covered in books. These shelves were overstuffed and cluttered, but it was similar to the living room. An antique writing desk was given a new life as a vanity. A cedar hope chest sat under the lone window, piled with pillows that had an Erin-shaped depression. These details were not as important as the majestic antique that took up most of the room.

A delicately carved solid wood headboard rested against the bare north wall. Four thick, sturdy posts held up a smoky lavender canopy. A blanket with a matching lavender gradient was tucked into the bed hotel-vacuum tight. The mattress was an odd size, somewhere between queen and king. The tall frame had the original wood, but Holtzmann recalled a conversation about it being remade underneath. It had such possibilities, like letting the canopy fall around them to block out everything else. Or replacing the canopy with thick fabric to make a pillow fort that would rival the the potential one at her workbench. None of the many ideas that came to mind were relevant today. All she needed was a flat surface that had plenty of room for two and a washable cover that would not irritate her girl's sensitive skin.

Holtzmann sat Erin on the side of the bed. It meant that she had to stand on her toes and Erin had to lean down for a kiss. A hint of a self-conscious thought flashed through her mind about her height, but Erin’s next comment vanquished it.

“Come here, Tiger,” Erin said, gesturing on either side of her hips.

An intense wildcat grin spread across Holtzmann’s face. If it was not just for sexy-fun-times, the nickname ‘Tiger’ would drive Patty, and probably Abby, crazy. It was cliche and awkward. None of those things had bothered her before, but this one would make it difficult to remain calm. Erin had purred it to her. She bent her knees then used all of her muscle gained with weights and the fireman's pole to power upward. She pounced onto Erin, her legs straddled to fulfill the request. Before the mattress recovered, her tongue lashed into Erin’s mouth and made bold stripes. Two graceful hands gripped the place between her waist and hips.

“Is that my nickname, Cupcake?”

“Yeah,” Erin breathed.

“I told you what yours means.”

“Well, now I have another reason.”

“I’ll bet your adorable tank and bra that I can’t guess.”

Erin giggled at the ridiculous bet. “What if you do?”

“Then you’ll have to take them off yourself,” Holtzmann said, as if describing a horrible tragedy.

“Sounds risky, but it’s a deal.”

“Because I remind you of the Frosted Flakes guy.”

“Well, Holtz, You are grrrrreat.”

Holtzmann threw her hand back, delighted by Erin’s goofy joke. This time, it was her neck attacked with kisses. They were more assertive than before, using the minimum pressure to feel her heartbeat.

“Whoa, killer cupcake,” Holtzmann breathed. “It’s my turn, remember?”

“Alright," she pouted. “You win. That’s not why.”

Before any other delay, Holtzmann hooked her fingers under the hem of Erin’s shirt. She paused for a moment, checking for approval. A warm smile revealed creases that were not deep enough as far as she was concerned. Erin needed much more laughter. Progress snagged at Erin's braline.

“They’re attached.”

When Holtzmann did not move, Erin added, “The deal was for both.”

After a quick kiss, she found the elastic band. She eased it forward and then up, careful not to graze Erin’s chest. Before she looked, she laid Erin back, head nestled in the pillows. Her body covered Erin’s, more protective than a standard straddle. It felt natural to be almost naked near her. There was none of the anxious vulnerability she had to work through or ignore with new lovers. Erin had appreciated her body, but she still felt like Erin saw Holtzmann, even without her odd wardrobe. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. There was an invitation to see, a spoken one. She accepted with glee.

The memories of carefree days in the sun covered Erin’s upper chest and belly. The shape of her belly was not muscular or athletic, but it was not the stereotypical weak nerd body either. Holtzmann tucked the detail away, guessing regular yoga or pilates. Her small breasts would be thoroughly spoiled soon. Holtzmann’s hands were not large, but they could provide complete cover and thorough affection. The soft curves had silvery lines that told the tale of her change from a girl to a young woman. A hint of extra softness marked the effects of gravity as she aged and grew into the woman Holtzmann adored. Where Erin would someday see pale pink, Holtzmann saw a dusky rosy pink, taut in the cool air.

“Erin, you asked me.”

“Please.”

“Please? So polite, Doctor Gilbert.” Holtzmann kissed from her mouth to the hollow of her neck, then straight down to her small bellybutton. She paused and watched the tan skin pale under the pressure of her fingertips on Erin’s sides. The slender body underneath her shifted upward, anticipating a touch it would not get. Not yet, she realized. Her own finish had arrived much faster than ever before. If Erin was sensitive enough to say please, she might do the same. The lovely physicist managed the request with care and efficiency, but asking had been a desperate decision. This needed to be even. She had to taste the first one.

“Holtz, if you don’t- please don’t pretend.”  Erin‘s arms covered her chest.

“Erin, baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s- well it doesn’t feel very good, but it’s ok.”

Her face was hurt and anxious, her voice tight with the start of tears. None of it should ever happen with Holtzmann nearby. She should feel safe and adored, not trapped and unwanted.

“No no no. I meant what I said about the wrapper.”

“But that was before you saw me.”

“I got a little stuck, like I do on good designs.”

After a few reassurances of how much she wanted to touch and see, Erin’s posture relaxed. Her hands held Erin’s sides, gliding up and down. Her brain checked off the box next to ‘ticklish’ to investigate another day. She explained her reasoning and heard no arguments. There was a request to be more gentle than what happened earlier, at least at first.

“And…there’s something else.”

She looked up from kissing around Erin’s bellybutton.

“Holtz- I’m…I haven’t…it’s been a while and…It's not worth being more sensitive just to…And well I didn’t expect- And I just got back, it's not like I could take a razor or trimmer or-”

The muscle of Holtzmann's arms flexed as she leaned forward to respond, but Erin missed it. The professor also missed the frank look. Her eyes were closed tight. She had grimaced and gasped when Holtzmann’s loose shirt grazed over her bare chest.

Holtzmann gave a smile that was both reassuring and appreciative. She hooked her fingers under the hem of her shirt and her sports bra.

“Wait! You didn’t want to before. It’s OK, Holtz. I can manage it better if I’m not surprised.”

Holtzmann hid her face. Erin was already one of her favorite people. She had never wanted anyone more or spent so much time wanting anyone else. This level of acceptance was not truly necessary for her, but the fact that it came with the stock Erin model made her throat tight.

“I mean, I _do_ want to see you, but only if you feel good, OK? That’s what this is for, after all. Feeling good. OK?”

“How about a good old compromise?” Holtzmann managed to say cheerfully. She pulled off the crop top and left the high impact sports bra in place. It was yellow when she bought it, but now it was tie-dyed in tight spirals of blue that faded into green.

Erin’s eyes took in every detail of the moment, with a focus on the tone revealed in Holtzmann’s belly when her elbows were over her head. Erin made a note for later to find out if Holtzmann might like to keep them there. The shirt seemed to disappear instead of being dropped or thrown. She paid close attention to Holtzmann’s face and posture, glad to see that no anxiety joined the handsome features.

“I haven’t told you yet, not directly,” Holtzmann said, startled. "It's good stuff, don't worry. I see you worrying! Stop it! I should have said, before you took such wicked awesome care of me. _Awesome, Erin._ "

“What is it?”

Holtzmann took in a deep breath and raced forward. “You drive me crazy - yes me - even crazier, Erin. It’s dangerous, but you help me stay safe, like my blowtorch to your fire extinguisher. You saved the city with me, then saved our awesome friend - my first real one since junior high - before I realized what had happened. You care so much it makes you jittery. I know you hate that, but it’s special. I can prove it. I have more data. I love making things, but if something doesn’t work, that’s it. Unless they want to use the back of the paper, no one cares about the blueprints for failed designs. Until you. Abby encourages me to try again and find another way. But you asked for one, then talked about it like it was for a working prototype. And I’m still sorry for how I snapped about how I knew why it would not work and it was not worth more time.”

Holtzmann took a slow breath to clear her tight throat. “You said it was worth it to you and for our work. Reminded me that science is often more about the failures than successes. The design was trash, but we found a serious vulnerability that the traps shared. Everything down to the equations had to be scrapped, but we remade it before the next ghost call. There’s all kinds of goofy ribbons and plaques for design awards at my place, even my doctorate was a device. I’ve never had anybody who cared about my work, whether or not it ended in the ‘flashing lights’, like you called it.”

Erin stayed still and quiet. The almost monotone, rushed delivery made it clear that this was an effort. She wrapped her arms around Holtzmann’s waist, leaving plenty of room to move.

“People have tried to help with the fugue state deal, but it’s always on their terms. They want me to stop completely or take a huge break to have a whole meal with them. Not Doctor Gilbert, who has a notebook of what works and what doesn’t. Add in that you being away makes it way worse. This week was the first time in months I’ve gotten into the darker spiral, where my productivity drops off and I get angry, but I keep going. I don’t mean food, though that cupboard is bare. You weren’t there to ask me the name of the song or what theorems the design used or to look at your work or take a quick walk outside. It was worse than that makes it sound. Erin, you weren’t there and all that mattered was the flashing lights.”

Erin’s postured curled inward. She wanted to bring Holtzmann closer, but could not tell if she should. Holtzmann rubbed her shoulders. The warm, firm touch helped her relax, but offering comfort seemed to be more soothing for Holtzmann than it was to receive it. She had been complimented by lovers before, but it was always physical. That was all that had mattered once there was a flat surface. Not this time. It was difficult for Holtzmann to rattle through all of it, but it quieted fears and answered questions and spawned new curiosities for later. Erin struggled for an appropriate response, at least an acknowledgement. Holtzmann surprised both of them by saying more.

“I’ve got four good friends now, solid in their own ways. Two I can I talk physics with. I know all of you would step in if things got tough and all the lights went out. Still care even if the lights were so bright you couldn’t work or the bulbs were dull and tired. But you, Erin the overachiever, I can count on you for something more. You’d try wearing sunglasses before telling me to turn it down. You wouldn’t tell me to replace dull bulbs just for you, just so the lights give the footcandles you’re used to."

"I love that unit. Footcandles," Erin said softly, allowing Holtzmann time to breath and think. "Lumens is boring Latin, but footcandles tells us where the science started. Small steps and light."

"Gah, you're even doing it now. See? No matter what you’d help if I wanted it. But you don’t push or act like some big old hero for being patient. You’re not always -  which is good because it means you have a spine and CNS - but you try. You’re accepting. Embracing, it turns out. You said earlier you didn't get why I stayed. I’m here to show it ‘cause I can’t keep this up. It’s going to take a long time to show you. Years. Good think we're in New York, because that's gonna be a lot of delivery food.”

She took another deep breath and powered through the next lines.

“Designs get better just talking to you about them. You understand each one before giving any criticism. You want my help with your stuff, not only to listen, though I would love to hear if it helps you think, professor. Science should be open that way, but we both know people usually hide until they think it’s perfect. I saw the start of a new theory on your wall. I can’t wait to hear about it and find out what it means for our work and to you. Maybe I can build something new or make improvements with it or just have a chance to learn something new from the number one theorist and expert in our narrow life-saving field. It's true, Erin, I don't have any reason to exaggerate. The government confirmed it and I've already got you in bed. You’d teach anybody who wanted to understand it, wouldn’t you? Yeah, you would, even if they needed help with the algebra before they learned velocity.”

Almost done, Holtzmann’s voice relaxed. It was tighter than normal, but not monotone.

“Somehow, with all of that, you figured out how to be a **_damn fine kisser_** , everywhere you've gone so far, and _**beautiful**_. I need to know every curve, line, freckle. Every story and kiss you’d share with me. Everything that make you blush or nervous or scared or smile. You can drive me so crazy wanting you that I have missed Saturday Morning Cartoons to stay in bed after a good dream of you. It’s serious, Erin. You did this all of this simultaneously. It’s mind-blowing. Pure genius. **And I want _all of it_ , down to the wrapper, Cupcake.**”

Holtzmann partially collapsed after the exertion, grateful to hide her face in Erin's hair.

“Have me,” Erin managed to say through her hitched breath.

Just like that, the smile and cheerful mischief returned. “Mind if I do some more research?”

After Erin gestured welcome, Holtzmann kissed down her belly. The plan was to leave the skirt for last, but that could be another day with softer fabric.

 _Another day. It'll be better than any of those dreams._  

“This one is kind of tricky to-”

This was something Erin had not considered. Holtzmann may not wear traditional women’s clothes, but she had a keen fondness for taking them off. The engineer grinned up at Erin, the complicated little hook and eye closure already open in her hand.

“Whoa.”

Holtzmann added a slow wink to her grin, then pulled the skirt away. The jeans came right along with it.

“How did- tell me later,” Erin said, waving her own question away.

Holtzmann did not notice the hand flapping. Her focus was on the satin-like fabric around Erin’s hips. It was lined in cotton and edged with a small band of delicate lace. All of it was light blue this morning, but now the fabric between Erin’s slender thighs was closer to navy. She bit the inside of her mouth to stop a growl.

Something else was obvious through the fabric. It was not an overstatement that it had been a while since a trim. It was not a problem, especially since it seemed like she would later. Holtzmann would have been happy to give a strong argument to convince her otherwise.

Holtzmann toyed with the lace waistband. When Erin gave a nod, one of her fingers raced under it, using the lightest touch. Erin’s breathing and posture were too nervous for the engineer’s liking. The sincere soft moan that followed assured Erin that she wanted to taste more. That did not fix it. Erin had already diagnosed the problem for her.

Most people -  if they were half as interested in stealing away the light fabric as Holtzmann was - would not draw attention to the situation. Other people would leave the anxiety in the air. They would ignore the awkwardness and hope it would float away. They would risk that it might linger instead of facing it. They would let it tarnish the glory of the rest. That would not do. Holtzmann would banish it and chase it away personally.

_Or maybe I’ll roll a boulder down an incline, Professor. It's almost a frictionless plane.  
_

“Here, Cupcake, hold on to my hat for me.” Holtzmann mimicked taking a hat off her head and putting it on Erin’s head.

Erin had a puzzled look. Her mind was clouded by the intensity of being undressed and Holtzmann's sweet monologue.

“Professor, any plan where you lose your hat is a bad plan.”

Holtzmann kissed between Erin’s breasts, thinking little promises of attention to them for later.

Erin’s lack of response meant she still needed a prompt.

“It’s wild where I’m going. I’d never find it again if it fell.”

It took a moment longer to process than it should have. Erin was only starting to be mortified when Holtzmann pulled away her last piece of clothing.

Holtzmann reached the thick bundle of dark curls that shined gold and red. She nuzzled into them, captivated by Erin’s smell and warmth. Without a shred of self-doubt or hesitation, Holtzmann hummed a familiar theme song with her face pressed against Erin.

Erin made a strangled noise, like a tea kettle on the stove. Her posture stiffened until she was tight and shaky. She did not know whether to yell or flee or cry until she risked looking down.

Bright blue eyes sparkled at her. Holtzmann gave her another wink, then continued to the next bars of the song.

The wink won Erin over to the ridiculous and joyous side of the act. A sharp crackle of laughter filled the room. Her stomach clenched so tight that it immediately started to ache.

 _Perfect, stay right there, Erin_. It was where Holtzmann wanted her girl. Happy instead of self-conscious. Safe in her arms, feeling wanted and free.

The laugh faded into a giggle, then shifted to a quiet, drawn out moan. Holtzmann’s fingers moved with care to make Erin more open for her kisses. Her tongue explored with soft touches, bringing the vibration of the theme song with it.

Unconsciously seducing Holtzmann a little bit more, Erin held onto her head with one hand, as if to keep a hat in place.

The song was interrupted by a loud groan when Holtzmann licked near Erin’s entrance. The intensity of her taste paired with how much she had to share made it difficult to go slow.

“Holtz,” Erin gasped.

“More?”

“Please.”

“I think the song just keeps looping but-”

“Ahh Holtz! Please!”

“Erin Gilbert, I always knew some day you'd want more if you let my try. I never doubted that. Something made it inevitable.”

“Holtz! I don't want to to think about that terrible professor who doesn't even show up to class!”

“So, quotes are too much. Got it.”

Before Erin could rage more in frustration, Holtzmann upped the pressure from her tongue. Abandoning the theme song, she took her touch from feather-light to moving Erin’s sensitive skin. When she explored right above Erin’s clit, a sharp moan filled the room. It made Holtzmann's body ready to beg for more attention.

_Right there, baby? I feel it. I’ll remember, but not yet._

Holtzmann guessed that, on another night when it had only been a few days since Erin had been thoroughly spoiled, she might be able to venture a little lower to the exposed part. For today, Erin was too sensitive to touch directly. It made Erin hiss and shift when Holtzmann tried.  She explored Erin’s entrance again, testing and teasing about darting inside.

“Holtz…not-”

After giving a thumbs-up of understanding, Holtzmann moved her kisses north. Erin’s skin was softer than she imagined. The taste and smell were better too, so much she might finally earn the crazy title. The soft sighs and moans in Erin’s voice made it hard to breathe. She was going to draw it out. There was a plan to build slowly to ease Erin out of the tension.

Plans are made to be changed.

Holtzmann wrapped her arm around one of Erin’s thigh. Her fingers held Erin open. She began a thorough search for the treasure she had once thought impossible to find.

Erin did not mind being the lost artifact. She held her own hair, unconsciously grasping he imaginary hat. Holtzmann was exactly like she imagined, in that she could not predict a single thing the engineer would do, but all of it was amazing.

Soon, the upward movement of her hips challenged Holtzmann’s hold. She gasped each breath. After a few minutes of sharp tension, Holtzmann started to worry. Not of skill, but Erin's acceptance of her desires. If anyone could be too self-conscious to let go, it would be Erin.

Holtzmann changed her angle to free one of her hands. She dried it on the straps of her bra. It would be a fascinating story for the first time they held hands. She stored the thought of Erin’s blush when she casually alluded to it for another day.

“Come on, baby. You can let go. I've got you.” Holtzmann said as she caught one of Erin’s hands and intertwined their fingers. “I’m right here. I’ll catch you.”

Her tongue found the spot that made Erin cry out earlier. She had experimented with more pressure, but that was too much. Now, her touch was light and precise. The tip of her tongue moved in a blur of affection.

Erin’s grip tightened. Every muscle of her legs was taut, her back arched. Holtzmann helped her stay in place, using a strong forearm to keep her hips on the bed. Holtzmann moaned softly against her, eager to learn more about the professor. The vibration channeled through her tongue, steady in its furious pace.

“ _ **HOLTZMANN**_ ,”  Erin moaned or growled or yelled. It turned into a loud wordless continuation of the last syllable. Holtzmann did not stop and neither did she. For a long, intense moment, she fluttered like a paper wrapper caught in the breeze. None of the hurt of the past months of guilt and wanting or the two decades of hiding herself away mattered. The neighbors did not exist. Their age difference and the FBI and Erin’s fears of being a disappointment vanished. The weight of all of it and more lightened as the tension changed to release.

Instead of falling, she flew, tethered to reality by Holtzmann’s hand in hers.


	17. Smoke Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early hours of Saturday morning, in a smoky room in California
> 
> A mission report, from the new guard to the old

"Do not be mislead by success. This was not our doing. It was not manufactured."

"They were not making progress. No potential weapon were acquired."

"Nor should they have been."

"Sir?"

The man sighed and took a long drag from the cigarette. He motioned for the mission file.

"Open to the productivity of the engineer directly related to time with Gilbert."

"That boost was attributed to the care provided during fugue states, sir."

"Holtzmann despaired in these times, full of anxiety about a longed-for relationship. Imagine when she is relaxed, confident, and driven to impress."

"Was that chance not provided by our effort?"

"We provided a nudge. They boarded the plane, donned the parachute, and came to the door. The agency has forgotten something vital. It will be its downfall."

"What is it, sir?"

"First, to be lasting, it must be authentic. Otherwise, it must be watched over like a tiny child and constantly prodded in the right direction. They will see to it from here."

"Case closed?"

"Hardly. For you specifically, there is work to be done for the metalworks shop, to increase their resources and reach. More subtle this time. Come up with a better explanation than ‘in stock’ for odd parts."

"Sir, I-"

"You misjudge them, yet another fallacy. Covert operations are not their forte, but they have laid the foundation of an entirely new branch of science. Gilbert remembers and analyzes and calculates. Holtzmann knows the flow of power and lines of exquisite design. Yates, as we have confirmed, will be much more difficult to foster. She is no doubt invaluable, but she seems more of a cohesive force in both relationships and science. They will find the connections and they will halt all progress until they have found the source."

Before the young man could acknowledge, the older man mused. "With his past, Follmer was a risk. It was a refreshing challenge to manipulate the agency into sending the fallen son. His formal manner did not romance or seduce, but there was something stronger there. A spark of friendship, without such base concerns, couche in the chance for trust. An excellent suggestion on your part. I take it you know that I do not say such things lightly."

"Thank you, sir. I have learned so much from you."

"Deference and compliment. How traditional."

The agent gave a nod that turned into a bow.

"Dancing was once a mundane skill. It had to be practiced like a sport to be more than decent. You must have made an effort to have such stamina."

"Yes, sir."

"It would be remarkable if Miss Tolan is the muse Mr. Vitale needs as well. Truly. I expect your write-up by end of next week."

"Rocky- Mr. Vitale did seem taken with her. Is there an assignment in the interim, sir?"

"A sense of duty is a novelty that will burn away in time. Still, we will make use of it. You will accompany Follmer on his next assignment. Twenty-four hours. Janine will provide your marching orders and travel arrangements. You will remain in California."

"Yes, sir."

The young man struggled to keep the cough at bay. His lungs screamed for him to run the short way to the door and inhale fresh air.

"Agent Barrett."

His fingers fell away from the welcoming cool metal of the doorknob. This was likely a test. He kept his chin high and met the legendary old man's eyes.

"Bring me all footage from Friday night forward."

"Of course, sir. However, Agent Scully's...involvement began on Wednesday, if you wish to review."

The steely eyes showed no expression through the smoke. "Take it to your quarters if you like."

The agent swallowed a cough.

"They will place a barrier soon. See that is it managed before they do so."

"It is, sir, in the firehouse and other requested locations."

"Excellent. Provide example footage as well. Dismissed."

 

He did not mind the speed at which surveillance could be reviewed and delivered. The agent had returned within the hour with a thorough annotation. The young man was not Ivy League, but his talents and insights were welcome. Perhaps, if there were a few more of his caliber, their work would endure. However, the agent fell victim to an error his parent's generation began. Children, the lot of them. They had no idea what was real and what was passing. He missed the days of leather and metal, where there was no shiny plastic or the constant glare of blue lights. He missed the beauty of finding a bit of Heaven in the gritty mess of Hell.

As far as a pairing for the engineer, uncommonly beautiful of mind and body, another physicist was much more interesting that a physician. He had never thought much of health anyway. Better to live.

 

"Sir, a moment?"

"Come in, Barrett."

"Apologies for the delay, sir. Is it to your specifications?"

The man held his cigarette in his mouth and examined the small sphere in his hand. The seam was evident and it had gaudy glitter suspended in its translucent body. He bounced it once on the floor.

"A string of events, linked only by physical distance, whose goal is not apparent until it is fulfilled."

"Sir?"

"I have always felt an affinity for Goldberg."


	18. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday evening, NYC
> 
> Scully and Mulder reconnect

It was a long walk to the hotel, but Mulder knew she needed time to cool off. Their cases were closed. It once left a void in his chest and a nagging fear in his mind that he had missed something. Now, closed cases meant she would walk with her hand lost in his. For that, he could and would brave the most crowded NYC sidewalk. The only problem was that it was hard to hear whenever she broke her contemplative silence.

Normally, he relished their height difference. She often teased him about it, but later she would melt into his arms, telling him without a word that she felt safe. Right now, he hated it. His mind wandered without her conversation, then he missed the start of a paragraph. He hated asking her to repeat herself. Besides, she was tense enough without more irritation.

"Scully, it's so loud. Squeeze my hand first, OK?"

"Or you could listen," she snapped.

He winced.

"Mulder, I'm sorry.  That wasn't fair"

"What? " he said playfully. "I didn't hear anything"

She gave the back of his hand a quick kiss, her chuckle lost in the street noise. He knew exactly what it sounded like. He wanted to hear it anyway.

"I was asking about Skinner and the images."

"He didn't mention any pictures."

"Maybe he wants to talk with me first, because of this," she squeezed his hand

"He's pretty good way covering things up,  but even I know some of his tells by now. He had no clue."

Scully rose onto the balls of her feet, expertly avoiding the perils of a grate in the sidewalk.

"They were gone as soon as we got signal."

"it doesn't surprise me that she would delete them"

"Not just Gilbert's phone. Mine."

"Mulder!" Scully laughed, in outrage and fondness.

"Our flights are booked for tomorrow afternoon."

"Something tells me my plants are going to die again."

"Headed out west, partner," he drawled in a ridiculous impression of a cowboy

"I'm not going panning for gold again."

"Eh, maybe quicksilver next time. Good guess though. Our wagon is headed to LAX"

"Mercury? Have you been watching that guy on the History channel again?"

"It would explain a lot of mysteries about the pyramids and-"

"What can you tell me out here? "

"Everything I know. Skinner said we'd be briefed on arrival "

"Almost 24 hours in New York. Anywhere you want to go? "

"I'm right where I want to be"

A quip about dirty city streets never made it out of her mouth. It was too sweet. She needed to hear it too much to poke at it.

"What about you,  Scully?"

"I know a place."

Even though his jacket felt stuffy and their hands were sharing sweat, her tone managed to send a pleasant chill up his spine.

—

Mulder eased the old hotel door shut behind them. It only made the creaking worse, like a bad horror movie sound effect.

"Fox."

"Either you really missed me or I'm in trouble,"

"Those possibilities are not mutually exclusive"

"I could see how it might be both. The neither option is frankly disturbing."

"Since when have you seen the world in monochrome, Mulder?"

"It's all pretty bleak, gray, and smoky without you"

Scully's tone changed to serious concern "Did something happen? She was strident with you"

"No. She's just like that. I was worried though. I - well - I called in an escalation for the helicopter. I even have some of the paperwork done. Did the initial justification interview."

"Mulder, " she said in wonder. "You know Skinner will make you go through the whole thing"

"I told him it was worth it. He cut me some slack."

"Did he let you off the hook? " disbelief

"Oh no. But he said it could wait till we get back."

"Why did you do that? "

"Only some kind of extraterrestrial influence or shadowy government conspiracy or paranormal activity could make someone forget that they were with you"

Scully fell against his chest and held him tight. His arms wrapped around her protectively. They paused there for a few moments.

"There's another possibility."

"Don't tell me. It's perfectly mundane and easily explained by science"

"Not this time. But it is definitely of Earth. It has toppled governments. Inspired the finest art. And in a brain like that one, it is anything but normal"

"Huh. Sounds shady to me "

"Sounds familiar to me." Scully held his face, her fingers resting along his jawline

"Listen, Scully, I know you're crazy about me. You don't have to get-"

"I'm not the one that called the helicopter."

"Would you have gotten a car or taxi? "

"Taxi, no question. What was that about? "

"I took careful notes, " he grinned wide and mischievous. "Want to see? "

"Handwritten and everything," she said, spying the stack of pages rolled into a misshapen scroll.

"Aren't going to read them?

"Later. "

"Aw,  why not now?"

"Because, Special Agent Fox Mulder, that case is closed. "

"But-"

"But not this one" she traced her thumb along his lower lip.

Mulder bent his knees to bring himself closer to her height. It was not as easy as it used to be, but they held each other up as they always had. They kissed until they felt unbalanced. She leaned into his arms and he leaned into hers. Her trust helped him find new strength. His willingness to come down from the clouds made her willing to leave the Earth entirely.

As long as they left it together.

"Philanthropist Scully. Think it will work?"

Mulder worried he had crossed a line. Scully's face was pressed into his shoulder. He could not tell if she was musing or fuming. He gritted his teeth and waited,

"I can hear you grinding. Give me a minute "

It sound like thinking-Scully, not angry-Scully. He waited, much more relaxed. Sometimes it was a relief to be known so well.

She gave him an odd look, one he had only seen a few times when the evidence was strange and the stakes were high. When the chance of their preferred outcome was low, but she hoped for it. The kind of outcome she would pray for.

"Mulder. I want to believe."


End file.
